


Dagger's Touch

by genginger



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Family, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 44,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genginger/pseuds/genginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is used to a life on the run. Maybe that’s why she’s so drawn to a certain elf from Tevinter? </p><p>The Hawke/Fenris romance in DA2 leaves quite a lot open to interpretation. My desire to fill in some of the blanks led to my very first attempt at fanfiction... This is a campaign retelling from a purple rogue Hawke’s perspective. (Slightly cleaned up from the original version published on ff.net.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jade Hawke’s eyes met Varric’s over the undeniably empty chest. 

“Waste of bloody time!” he swore. “Though I suppose it was a little suspicious from the start.” 

“No successful smuggler could possibly be as twitchy as Anso,” she agreed. “I just fixated on the 50 gold we need, and how much someone that nervous would probably pay to get his very illegal cargo back.” She closed the lid with a bang of disgust. “Now the real question is...”

“... if Anso isn’t a smuggler, who is he? And what does he want?” Varric finished.

“I don’t know whether to be angry or relieved,” snapped Aveline. “I can’t believe you wanted me to get mixed up with smuggling in the first place, Hawke.”

“We needed a reliable sword. Find us someone we can trust who is big enough to swing around a huge metal thing and doesn’t have your concerns about what’s lawful and we’ll stop involving you.” It was an old argument. Hawke’s heart wasn’t in it, and she knew Aveline’s wasn’t either. The guard groused a lot, but she always showed up. 

“So what do we do now?” asked Bethany. 

“I guess we have no choice but to go back to Anso and tell him. I’d keep your weapons at the ready. If you ask me the whole thing smells like a trap.” 

Hawke was the first to step outside, twin daggers in hand. Sure enough, a ring of armed men surrounded the door. Were those Tevinter helmets? Fortunately, they seemed more surprised to see Hawke and her companions than she was to see them. “That’s not the elf!” she heard, before someone gave the order to attack, and everyone sprang into action. 

It wasn’t very long before she was wiping the blood from her daggers. Their adversaries had been more skilled than the average Lowtown gang, but not good enough to beat Hawke and her team. She gathered them up with a look and headed towards the stairs. No sense in hanging around – they should go find Anso before someone else did.

A very angry looking man stepped out from the shadows to stop their progress. “I don’t know who you are, friend,” he sneered, “but you’ve made a serious mistake coming here.” He shouted for his reinforcements and Hawke readied her daggers, but the only man who stumbled down the stairs behind him was dripping with blood. He managed only to gasp out the word, “Captain” before falling to the ground with an audible squelch. 

“Your men are dead,” spoke a grim voice, “and your trap has failed. I suggest running back to your master while you can.” A slim figure with pale hair moved forward, past the angry man as if he no longer mattered, and came to stand directly in front of Hawke. 

Clearly not pleased with any of the night’s events, the captain grabbed at the stranger’s shoulder. “You’re going nowhere, slave!”

It was hard to say exactly what happened next. The stranger seemed to glow, as he swiftly turned and plunged his gauntleted fist into the man’s chest. “I am not a slave,” he growled, as he... did something... and the captain fell to the ground. As swiftly as it had come, the strange light faded.

Almost casually, the stranger dropped the man’s heart alongside his body and turned back to Hawke. “I apologize,” he said. 

She drew breath to say, “Oh don’t mind us,” but didn’t. This night was getting stranger by the second, and whoever this was had just ripped a man apart with his bare hands. Perhaps discretion _was_ the better part of valor, as her mother liked to say.

“When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they’d be so... numerous.” The stranger stepped fully into the light for the first time, and she saw that he was an elf, covered in strange white markings.

“Don’t worry, we do this sort of thing often.” It seemed she couldn’t quite control her urge to be flippant after all. She re-sheathed her daggers.

“Impressive.” He turned back from his inspection of the carnage in the square. “My name is Fenris. These men were Imperial bounty hunters, seeking to recover a Magister’s lost property, namely myself. They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely.”

“Anso’s job did seem a little too easy,” she said, looking him over. Fenris was beautiful. Beautiful and dangerous, two of Hawke’s very favorite things. 

“Perhaps the deception was unnecessary. If so, I am sorry. I have become too accustomed to hiding.” He paused, and his tone changed, as though he deviated from carefully planned remarks. “If I may ask, what was in the chest? The one they kept in the house?”

She shrugged. “It was empty.”

“I suppose it was too much to hope for. Even so, I had to know,” he murmured, mostly to himself. 

“All that for an empty chest?” It seemed unlikely.

“No,” said the elf. “There’s more.”


	2. Chapter 2

A short while later, Hawke found herself striding purposefully up the streets of Hightown, straining slightly to keep pace with the silent elf. She watched him as they went; his movement betrayed excitement, but still he was wary and his path always stayed to the darkest part of the street. He must be a fighter if he could manage the enormous sword on his back -- and she had no doubt he could -- but he moved like a rogue; she wondered if he’d learned it on the run. 

It seemed to pain him to ask for further assistance but she hadn’t hesitated to give it. And for once, there was no complaint from Aveline. They were Fereldan; slavery was not one of the things you stood by and pretended not to notice.

When they arrived at the Magister’s house, Fenris motioned her to stay back while he took a look around. The others caught up, and in a moment, Fenris rejoined them. 

“Danarius may know we’re here. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Nothing like a prepared mage, is there? What’s the worst that could happen?” Was that tactless? Perhaps Mother was right; she should learn to control her Maker-damned tongue. But he seemed to take it in stride. 

“I do not fear death. That does not mean we should be reckless.”

His outward veneer of calm thinned as they stepped inside, and his rage seemed to grow as they worked through the rooms. He moved like a ghost, so quick that he seemed to be everywhere at once, sword flashing. But a complete sweep of the mansion found only traps, demons, and shades -- Magister Danarius had left a message, but the man himself was gone. 

When they’d cleared the last room, Fenris’ anger seemed to desert him. He looked defeated as he invited them to help themselves to Danarius’ valuables and swept out, muttering that he needed some air. 

“This is more like it,” Varric said with a grin, as he went through the trunks in the Magister’s study. Even Aveline didn’t seem to mind raiding the possessions of a foreign slaver. But Hawke’s mind was on the elf. He’d hardly looked at them on his way out. How long had he been on the run? Would he stay in Kirkwall? He’d been very good with that sword. 

She shook herself. Focus. If this Magister is so important and powerful, he must have left good stuff behind; she should see what Varric had found.

* * *

When they stepped out of Danarius’ estate, Fenris was leaning against a nearby wall. It was natural to be pleased that he hadn’t run off; he had said he’d pay them, after all. Maybe they’d be able to come to some sort of arrangement. Chasing off slavers in exchange for some help earning gold for the Deep Roads expedition? 

He straightened up as they drew closer. “It never ends. I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. And now I find myself in the company of another mage.” 

“You can speak to me directly,” Bethany said sharply. 

Fenris’ deep green eyes flicked towards her. “I saw you casting spells inside. I should have realized sooner what you really were.” He turned back to Hawke. “You harbor a viper in your midst. It will turn on you and strike when you least expect. That is in its nature.”

A lifetime of protective instinct kicked in, and Hawke’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember you objecting too strenuously while we were fighting.” 

“I am not blind. I know magic has its uses, and there are, undoubtedly, mages with good intentions. But even the best intentioned mage can fall prey to temptation, and then their power is a curse to inflict upon others.”

“No one is stopping you from moving on, you know,” Bethany interjected. Hawke’s jaw tightened, but she waited to hear what he would say. 

“I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so, I apologize, for nothing could be further from the truth.” He unhooked a pouch from his belt. “I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised.” He handed the gold to Hawke, and added, “Should you find yourself in need of assistance, I would gladly render it.”

She felt unexpectedly conflicted taking his money. He might need it, on the run. Still, she had a trip to the Deep Roads to fund. “You’re an impressive fighter. But are you going to have a problem with my companions?” 

“I will watch them carefully if we travel together. I can promise no more.” 

That wasn’t really an answer, but it was good enough for now. “I am planning an expedition that I might need help with...”

* * *

The sisters dropped Varric at the Hanged Man and walked the last blocks back to Galen’s house alone. Bethany had been sulking the entire way back from Hightown. Hawke sighed. Best to get this over with. 

“So Fenris hates mages. Aren’t you used to people judging you by now? What they think doesn’t change who you are.”

“He didn’t even LOOK at me. Talked about me like I wasn’t even there. Usually the people who call me names look me in the face while they do it. Or they hide like I’m worthy to be scared of. They don’t treat me like... like an unpleasant insect. He was so rude!” 

Hawke only snorted. Bethany poked her sister hard in the arm. “You realize he hardly said a word to any of us? Only you. He hardly glanced at anyone else. I bet he didn’t even notice that Varric was a dwarf.” Hawke looked off down the alley to hide her expression, but they’d been sisters for a long time. “And you’re smiling about it. Oh Maker, I knew this would happen!”


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris _was_ rude. One by one, her companions tried to draw him out, and one by one they were rebuffed or insulted. Hawke found it amusing, mostly because she’d resisted the urge to try. Not that she wasn’t curious about Fenris’ past herself. But since her initial misstep... 

It had seemed like a small thing. She’d asked him to meet them at the Hanged Man while they discussed the next couple of jobs. Varric’s room was where they usually had their more private discussions, and Fenris had arrived while she was down at the bar fetching another pitcher of beer -- Norah refused to carry their orders that far when things were busy. 

Fenris was already seated at the table; thank the Maker she’d handed the pitcher over to Aveline before she approached. She’d dropped a hand on Fenris’ shoulder, and opened her mouth to thank him for coming. Before she could draw the breath, his chair was across the room and the elf was on his feet, his markings glowing fiercely. 

She slowly brought both hands up to where he could see them. Judging by the pounding of her heart, it was still inside her chest. That was good. 

It was probably only seconds before the strange light faded and Fenris straightened from his defensive crouch, but it felt like ages.

“You prefer not to be touched then. Duly noted.” She made an attempt at her usual cocky smile. Resisting the urge to retreat, she settled herself in the empty spot next to where Fenris had been sitting. Never show a dog your fear, as they said back home. 

“I apologize for my overreaction,” was all he said. But he did look slightly embarrassed as he retrieved his chair and sat back down. Aveline stepped into the silence, handing around the ale. She could have kissed her.

Instead, she took the offered mug and wrapped her hands around it before turning back to Fenris. “So the glowing,” She reached for a casual tone. “It comes from your... markings?”

He nodded. “They are lyrium, burned into my flesh to provide the power that Danarius required of his pet.” If his snarl could have set things on fire, she was pretty sure the table would be burning. “And now he wishes his precious investment returned, even if he must rip it from my corpse.”

Apparently he wasn’t going to help her lighten the mood. Forget subtlety, then. She gave him her most devastating smile. “That seems like the waste of a perfectly handsome elf.” 

He gave a surprised bark of laughter, then a slightly nervous cough. 

That’s more like it, thought Hawke. She took a gulp of ale and set her mug down with a bang. “Now gang, here’s what we have on deck this week...”

* * *

However awkward he was at conversation, Fenris was comfortable in battle. His moves were graceful, economical, and deadly. Frankly, he made Aveline look like a lumbering ox -- though Hawke valued her life enough to keep that thought to herself. He could cover the width of the fight in a matter of moments, and frequently did, suddenly appearing wherever he was most needed. He must have amazing peripheral vision, she speculated, or the lyrium markings somehow heightened his awareness. 

She realized that meant he probably also saw the way she watched him out of the corner of her eye. But why shouldn’t she? As the leader of their little band, it was her job to keep her eye on things. He’d only just joined them; she had to assess both performance and character, to decide if he should be allowed to stick around. And if that assessment process sometimes involved putting him in the front as the first line of defense, surely he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head to know where her gaze had a tendency to rest as she walked behind? From the rolling of Bethany’s eyes, however… it wasn’t lost on everyone.


	4. Chapter 4

Agreeing to help Arianni find her lost apostate son turned out to be unexpectedly complicated. Not so much actually finding the boy, though that had been far from easy. But everyone in the group seemed to have a different opinion about how and why they should go about it. Feynriel‘s mother and the Templar Trask wanted him to go to the Circle of Magi. Anders and Bethany wanted to help him escape. Aveline was concerned about untrained mages loose in the city, and Fenris insisted that, as a mage, the boy was a menace who needed to be stopped. 

When it turned out Feynriel had been sold to slavers, at least that was something the group could agree on. Hawke let Fenris vent some of his rage on the head slaver Danzig, forcing the boy’s whereabouts from him with his strange phasing abilities. People did tend to talk when someone’s hand was inside their chest. 

When you sold people like animals, you didn’t deserve freedom yourself, in Hawke’s opinion. Once they had the information they needed, they wiped out the entire camp. They used the map they found to locate the hideout on the Wounded Coast.

Maybe she’d been showing off a bit when they finally found Feynriel and his captors. But seriously? “Take one more step and the boy dies”? That was supposed to make her want to negotiate? She’d sunk one of her daggers into the eye of the speaker without needing to blink. Slavers were bastards. They killed them all. 

Then she gritted her teeth and sent Feynriel to the Circle, overriding his protests. It was an unpopular decision with the mages in the party, but she kept her word to Thrask and Arianni. At least Aveline and Fenris were pleased.

That night, she lay in her narrow bunk at Uncle Gamlen’s house, thinking about her decision. It had been the right thing to do, she was fairly certain. Feynriel had been untrained, and demons had been calling to him in his sleep. The boy wanted to go to the elves, but there was no telling whether he would have been welcome among them; from what she’d seen, they had no use for outsiders, and sometimes even turned against their own. They’d been downright hostile to Merrill; she’d seen that for herself. 

Feynriel needed training, and he needed watching and protection. As much as her family had resisted the idea, the Circle had been created for a reason. 

The mages in her family had always lived outside the Circle. Her father had made that decision for them; he’d been a runaway himself before marrying Leandra, and insisted on training his mage daughter on his own. It meant hiding, fear, and moving from place to place for all of them. It had been tough; even Bethany had whispered, as they started over yet again in another new town, that just maybe it would have been better for everyone if she’d gone to the Circle when her magic began to show. Was the freedom really worth it? And had any of them ever really been free? Hawke had spent her entire life watchful, waiting, her sister’s personal bodyguard. 

She didn’t want to change their life now; she and Bethany might fight, but they loved each other, relied on each other. But unlike Feynriel, Bethany was trained, disciplined, and used to a life outside. A mage just starting out might well be better off working inside the system than trying to survive out of it. It had been the right decision, no matter what Anders had said. Hawke sighed and rolled over, and tried again to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun had just set over the roofs of Hightown as Hawke made her way to the old mansion where Fenris was squatting. He hadn’t showed to their weekly meeting, and she was both annoyed and concerned. Not enough to bring the crew with her; she’d left them to their drinking at the Hanged Man. But it wasn’t like Fenris to be late, much less to miss a meeting altogether. It seemed extremely unlikely that Danarius would have been able to take him by surprise... All the same, she ought to check. 

She knocked on the door -- three quick, one slow, two quick, as agreed -- and waited. There was a clatter from inside, like someone tripping on the stairs. She frowned. “Fenris? Are you alright?”

A moment later, the door swung wide, and there he stood. Unharmed, and... smiling?

“Hawke! Welcome to my crumbling abode.”

It seemed he was just going to stand there with the door open. He smelt suspiciously of booze. Drinking alone, was it? Always a good sign, that. 

“Yes, I thought I’d come by and say hello.” Figure out what was going on first, then bring up the missed meeting. “May I come in?”

“You may.” He stepped back, and turned to lead the way up the stairs. Hawke slipped inside and bolted the door behind her. She followed him up to the study, the only part of the house that he’d taken any steps to make habitable. 

“So,” she started. “What are we drinking?”

“Agreggio pavalle,” he replied, picking up the bottle of wine and looking at it like he’d never seen it before. “There are 6 bottles in the cellar. Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. My appearance intimidated them, he said, which he enjoyed.”

She settled into the cleanest looking chair and smiled at him. “I can’t imagine why they’d be put off.”

His lips quirked. “You say what’s on your mind, I’ll give you that.” He lifted the bottle and took a drink, frowned, and suddenly hurled it away from him to smash on the opposite wall. He regarded the stain the wine had left behind. “It’s good I can still take pleasure in the small things.”

That... was somewhat unnerving. “You could have offered me a glass first, you know,” she said lightly. 

He shrugged. “There’s more if you’re really interested.”

“Perish the thought. How else would you redecorate the walls?”

There was the laugh she’d been hoping for. He sunk down onto the bench opposite her, and studied his hands. 

“What is this all about?” she asked.

He was silent for a moment longer. “I’ve wanted to leave my past behind me, but it won’t stay there.” He looked up. “Tell me, have you never wanted to return to Ferelden?”

She leaned back. “I’ve thought about it.”

“The blight is over,” he pointed out. “You could rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?”

She had considered it as her year with the Red Iron came to an end. “My mother came from Kirkwall. Our heritage is here.” Father was the only reason her mother had gone to Ferelden in the first place, and now he was gone. In Kirkwall, she had a hope of reclaiming what she’d lost. In Ferelden, there was none. 

“Having a place you can put down roots. I understand. Still, to have the option... must be gratifying.”

If he was looking for roots, his decision to take over his former master’s estate was more complicated than she had thought. Less healthy, too. “Do you intend to keep living here?”

“I haven’t decided. For now it’s as good as any other place.”

“Maybe it’s just me, but it sounds like you want to stick around.” Or was that just her wishful thinking? 

“I could see myself staying -- for the right reasons.” 

He got up and paced around the room. Hawke watched; she could see why the magister had called him Fenris after the wolf of legend. He moved like a caged beast. All that power, barely contained. Powerful, drunk, and quite possibly crazy, she reminded herself. Hands off, Jade.

Maybe it was time to go. She stood up. 

Her movement brought him back to earth. “I should thank you again for helping me with the hunters.” He came toward her, his expression unexpectedly warm. “Had I known Anso would find me a woman so... capable, I might have asked him to look sooner.”

She lifted an eyebrow. Powerful, drunk, crazy, and _flirty_. Maker preserve us. “Maybe I should be thanking Anso.”

“Maybe you should.” The silence hung between them for a long moment before he broke eye contact with a self-deprecating noise. “Perhaps I’ll practice my flattery for your next visit? With any luck, I’ll become better at it.”

The walls were going back up. Fair enough. She’d learned more about him in the last 20 minutes than she had in the previous 20 days. It had been... illuminating. She turned to go, offering over her shoulder, “Oh, I don’t know. That wasn’t so bad.”

She let her hips swing just a bit more than was strictly necessary as she moved to the door. Turning, hand on the frame, she looked back. “And Fenris? Next time you miss a meeting... flattery isn’t going to cut it. Understood?”


	6. Chapter 6

Aveline met them in the Viscount’s hall. “Hawke. Is it true what I heard? You’re planning to challenge the Winters for the bounty for finding the viscount’s son?”

Hawke only grinned.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” asked the guard. “They have a fearsome reputation.”

“They have a reputation, and I’d like one. It’s terribly convenient. And the chance to get on the viscount’s good side is a definite plus.”

“They’re said to be very violent, Hawke.”

“So am I.” She looked behind her. “What do you think? Varric? Fenris? Worried about the violence, or would you care to join me?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Varric promised. 

“It would be a pleasure,” growled Fenris.

Hawke’s smile grew even wider. “There, you see Aveline? Nothing to worry about.”

Aveline looked as if she thought it were a great deal to worry about.

* * *

The viscount’s son had been safely restored, and they’d killed enough Winters mercenaries to sate the most bloodthirsty of appetites. After settling things with the viscount, Hawke had met the others at the Hanged Man for a celebratory drink. 

She leaned her back on the bar, watching her sister try to maneuver Anders into offering her an early walk home. In a minute, she’d go over and provide the needed company, but Bethany would be upset if she intervened too soon. 

“So tell me, why does everyone call you Hawke?”

She hadn’t heard Fenris approach. The blighted fighter had no excuse for moving so quietly. “Sorry?”

“You are both Hawke, correct?” he asked. “But everyone calls her Bethany.”

“Ah. When we first got to Kirkwall, we worked for the Red Iron. It seemed like a good idea to downplay her involvement to avoid Templar notice. We’re both Hawke, but I stepped forward as the face to the name. A lot of people still don’t know there are two of us.” She shrugged. “My first name is Jade. But I like Hawke. It’s a good name.”

“It suits you.” He nodded, and leaned next to her, a careful six inches away. “Bethany seems to have an unhealthy interest in Anders.”

“I know.” Hawke finished her ale. “I don’t like it, but as he seems determined to ignore that she exists, I’m deciding not to worry.”

Anders glanced over to where they stood -- had he heard them? it seemed unlikely -- decided there was no help to be found with Hawke, and turned to Varric. Fenris scowled. “He knows you exist.”

“He’d better,” she snorted. “I’ve saved his skinny mage ass more times than I can count. He’s all damage and no defense.”

“How can either of you not be bothered by what he is?”

“Bethany doesn’t see what he is.” She went to take another sip, remembered the mug was empty, and set it on the bar behind her. “She sees Father.”

She felt Fenris’ look of inquiry, but her eyes went back to Anders. “Our father was an apostate too. To be fair, there are some similarities. Irreverent, idealistic, passionate about their freedom... Bethany’s enough like Mother that I shouldn’t be surprised they’d fall for the same sort of man.”

“Anders isn’t a man, he’s an abomination,” the elf said sternly. 

Hawke sighed. “It’s worse than that. With Father... once he married, he had a family to support. We moved around a lot, but we stayed together. It forced him to think beyond the end of his nose. But as far as I can tell, Anders has no ties at all. He left the Circle -- at least seven times, if you believe his stories -- and he left the Gray Wardens. Someone with that much power and that little stability is dangerous, even when they’re not possessed.”

She turned and dropped a few coins on the bar. “I know how you feel about Anders. I don’t blame you. When his eyes glow and his voice changes… it’s wrong.” She stacked the coins into a neat little pile, thinking. “I might have really liked Anders the human. But he’s joined with that spirit, so I’ll never know. I keep him around because he’s good at healing, he’s helping Fereldens... and when he’s tramping around with us we know exactly what he’s up to.” She frowned. “To your original point -- Bethany may be a mage but she’s not passionate enough to interest Anders or Justice. She’ll be alright.” She pushed away from the bar. “And now, I’m going to go walk her home before I get another one of those lectures where Mother asks why I’m not more like her. See you tomorrow?”

“I will be here.”

“Good. ‘Night.”

Hawke gathered up her sister, said her goodbyes. She felt both the emerald and the amber eyes on her back all the way out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Varric was at least half drunk and in full storytelling mode by the time Fenris arrived at the Hanged Man. He hadn’t gone with them to the Bone Pit that afternoon; Hawke had taken Aveline, saying that the captain of the guard hadn’t been out of the city in far too long. Plus, she’d quipped, since this was a Ferelden rescue mission, it wouldn’t hurt her delicate sensibilities. 

“We were mowing through dragonlings like kittens --”

“Hey!”

“I’m not saying we like to kill kittens, Blondie. It’s a metaphor.” Varric cleared his throat. “Where was I? Yes, mowing through the dragonlings. Hawke was everywhere, hacking and stabbing...”

Fenris caught Hawke’s eye. “Might as well let him get it out of his system,” she said with a grin. “If I’m sitting right here, hopefully that will limit the more ridiculous exaggeration.” 

He picked up an empty mug from the table and inspected it critically. Deciding it was clean, he splashed some ale into it and pulled a chair closer to where she sat. “Did you see any dragonlings at all, or was the Bone Pit simply suffering from the standard spider infestation?”

“Oh, it was more than dragonlings.” Her eyes danced. “This tale needs less exaggerating than they usually do. I apologize for leaving you behind today... you missed out on the dragon.”

* * *

Storytime over, most of the crowd had drifted away. Hawke had intended to get some planning done for the upcoming Deep Roads expedition, but everyone was a bit too excited by the day -- and too drunk, after the rounds Varric’s appreciative listeners had bought them -- for productivity. 

“Here.” She banged a bottle down on the table next to Fenris, and waved two glasses at him. “The Hanged Man is hardly a purveyor of fine wines, but it’s worth a shot.”

“This... is for me?”

“If I have to watch you try to choke down another ale, I’m going to be sick myself.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. 

“It’s obvious you loathe it. You don’t have to drink ale just because everyone else does, you know. They have other booze here -- I’m not promising it will any good, mind you, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.” She poured a bit into each class.

“To trying new things.” She tapped his glass with her own and they both took a sip. 

“It... is no worse than the ale.” Fenris began cautiously. “It has... an interesting texture.”

“Andraste’s bloody fingernails, that’s horrible. No. Just... no. Give me that. I’m taking your example.” She went to the door and lobbed the bottle out into the street. Fenris laughed. 

“Hawke, that’s just irresponsible.” Aveline protested. 

“Honestly, Aveline, I needed to put it out of its misery.” She headed straight back to the bar. “And now I need something to wash the taste out of my mouth.”

She came back to the table with 3 tumblers, which she set on the table in front of Fenris. “Rum, whiskey, brandy.” She pulled herself up onto the table next to the glasses. “So go on, try them.”

“I appreciate the effort, Hawke, but there’s no need for this.”

“You’ve never seen your face when you’re trying to drink ale. You need to branch out, find something you like. Stop squirming and try one. If you hate them, at least you’ll know! It’ll be educational.”

He frowned, picked up the rum, took a sip. Then he scowled at her.

She laughed. “ _Or_ I could just be doing this for my own amusement.”

“Witch.”


	8. Chapter 8

“She didn’t even try to hide the set up. Not that it wasn’t already obvious. But the Chantry, playing with the lives of Kirkwall citizens, just to make a political statement about the Quinari! They should stick to the bloody Chant.” Hawke fumed as they stepped outside into the square. “At least she won’t be hanging around this block anymore.” She looked across the way to her uncle’s house, then to her sister. “Are you heading home, Bethany? You can tell Mother I have some planning to do with Varric and I won’t be back until late.”

“You mean you have some drinking to do,” her sister said.

“After what just happened? Yes. But I don’t think Mother needs to hear about it.”

“Hmmm,” was all Bethany replied as she headed up the stairs. “Goodnight Varric, Fenris.” 

The rest of them continued to walk toward the Hanged Man.

“Maker, I hope that’s the last loose end we have to tie up. I want to leave for the Deep Roads as soon as your brother is ready.” She turned to Fenris. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Will you come with us? I’d love to have your sword.” 

“This is the expedition you mentioned when we met?” he asked. “I am at your disposal.”

“Great. Varric, if you’ll tell Bartrand we’re ready, I’ll let Anders know to close up the clinic --”

Fenris scowled, and his voice was sour. “The abomination is coming with us?”

She should have expected it. The two of them had been treading -- more like stomping -- on one another’s toes lately. She was sure Anders’ suggestion that perhaps slaves should be made tranquil to prevent uprisings had been intended purely to get a reaction. He’d certainly gotten one. She hadn’t taken them out on the same jobs for a week, just to let things cool down. “Yes, he is.”

“Why not Bethany, if there has to be a mage along? He cannot be trusted, Hawke, he’s possessed and unstable.”

She reached for a reasonable tone. “I need Bethany to stay home with Mother. I can’t leave her here alone with only Gamlen to look after her.”

“But the mage --”

Her temper snapped, and she wheeled around to face him. “‘The mage’ is coming with us, for three reasons -- he has experience fighting darkspawn; he’s been in the Deep Roads before, which no one else here has; and he bloody well has the Maker-blighted Warden maps we need to get down there in the first place. This is not open for discussion, Fenris.” 

He snarled, shoulders tensed. She stared him down. Long seconds ticked past before Fenris looked away, and she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Varric lowered the hand he’d rested on Bianca. 

She took another breath, and tried to get her tone under control. Andraste’s ankles, she was tired. It had been a long day -- a long series of days -- and the constant bickering... 

“Does that mean you would rather not come with us?” she asked.

“No.” 

She waited, but it seemed that was all he was going to say. He still hadn’t looked at her. “Alright then. Let’s go get a drink. Maker knows I could use one.”

* * *

They made their way toward Varric’s favorite table. 

“Drinks on me tonight. Varric?” 

“The usual, Hawke.”

“Fenris?”

He opened his mouth and then shut it again. “I do not believe I am thirsty.” He nodded to Varric and made his way back towards the door. 

“Fenris... ” He was already stepping outside. “Balls.” Hawke went after him.

By the time she got out the door, he was already halfway down the stairs towards the market. “Fenris!” He stopped and allowed her to catch up, though he did not look at her. 

“I’m sorry I lost my temper.” When he said nothing, she moved to the step below him, forcing herself into his line of sight. “Hey.” 

He gave the impression of a sigh, and reluctantly met her eye. 

“There’s just been so much arguing lately,” she said. “And then that Quinari mage... And Bethany’s been hounding me to go on this Deep Roads trip -- I don’t know if she’s that afraid of dealing with the Templars on her own or if she’s hoping to get inside Ander’s robes in the dark.” She gave a disgusted shrug. “It’s a sensitive subject. But that’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t have cursed at you. I’m sorry.”

“Apparently I am making your job more difficult,” he said after a moment. “I will endeavor to stop.”

“Can you endeavor to be more cheerful, as well?”

He grimaced. “Don’t push your luck.” 

“Change your mind about that drink?” She hoped she didn’t sound too hopeful.

“No. But I will be ready when it’s time to leave.” He moved past her, down the rest of the stairs and into the dark.

* * *

Hawke handed Varric his ale. “So, do you think Bartrand--”

“What’s going on with you and the elf, Hawke?”

Shit. She gave him her best roguish grin and batted her eyelashes. “Varric! I never thought you were the type. I’m flattered.” 

“It’s the chest hair isn’t it? Women can never resist the chest hair. Unfortunately, it’s not to be. I’m spoken for.”

“Ahh, Bianca stands in my way again.” She gave a dramatic sigh, and propped her feet up on the table.

“What can I say, she’s the jealous type.” He took a sip of his ale, then stopped smiling and gave her a serious look. 

Damn, he wasn’t going to drop it. 

“Listen,” he said, “as your friend, I feel like I would be doing you a disservice if I didn’t say something. You do know the elf is covered in spikes, like an angsty porcupine? He might have some... issues.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever given you the impression that I was turned off by crazy?”

He snorted. “You have a point. But seriously, Hawke.” 

“Seriously, Varric?” She brought her feet down and leaned her elbows on the table instead. “‘Might have issues’ doesn’t begin to cover it. All the things he said today, about that Quinari mage... how he was just acting out of instinct, blindly finding someone to serve...” She rubbed her forehead. “I forget that Fenris knows these things from experience. He’s got a lot of stuff to sort out. Which is why there is nothing going on.” 

Varric still looked skeptical. 

She sighed. “Fine. If it makes you happy, I will admit I would have jumped him weeks ago, if he would let anyone touch him. And I’m sure Isabela would have been right behind me.”

Varric chuckled.

“However,” she continued, “as you may recall, last time I put my hand on his shoulder I almost got my face ripped off. I like danger, but not that much danger.”

“Liar,” he said. But he drank his ale and let the subject drop.


	9. Chapter 9

“I had really, sincerely hoped you were exaggerating how unpleasant this would be,” Hawke admitted. They’d been in the deep roads for several days. So far they hadn’t been required to do much -- Bartrand’s scouts had fussed over Anders’ maps and cleared the way ahead, and there was hired muscle to pull the supply carts. No sign of darkspawn yet, though they kept Anders towards the front in case he might be able to give advance notice. But the dank, soundless dark wasn’t just uncomfortable to travel in – it was eerie and unsettling. 

“I tried to warn you,” Anders replied. ”I hate the blighted Deep Roads. There are reasons I never wanted to come back here.” 

He did look miserable. Hawke wondered if Justice was nagging him about leaving Kirkwall and their cause to tramp around underground. Maybe she should have left him behind after all.

“Even your pet dog is more subdued than usual,” he added.

So much for sympathy. “Don’t, Anders.” 

“Well, it’s true. He’s hardly called me an abomination once all trip.”

“That could be because he realized the constant bickering made me want to stab both of you. Just... drop it.” She fell back to put some distance between them. Maybe Varric could cheer her up.

* * *

Some days later, after darkspawn and dragons and more endless tramping, they’d arrived at a truly ancient thaig. It seemed that fortune was smiling on them; or it did, until Bartrand nabbed the lyrium statue they’d found and trapped them inside the ancient crypt.

She’d never seen Varric actually angry before. She didn’t blame him for his fury at his brother; how could she after such a betrayal? But it meant that now she was trapped inside an ancient tomb a week underground in the creepiest place she’d ever been with only the seething, the sulky, and the silent for company. And it seemed it was up to her to find a way out. 

And then there was the demon. 

They’d been exploring through the back of the shrine, only to find it full of shades and strange rock creatures. Fortunately, what Hawke’s associates lacked in good companionship they made up for in skill. She and Fenris held the front while Anders and Varric rained arrows and lightning from behind. Fenris could hold an entire passageway with his enormous sword, while Hawke flanked enemies from the side or behind, or jumped back to defend the distance fighters. They built up a rhythm that was more like a dance. She would have found it exhilarating if she’d known for sure they’d eventually escape. 

Then the hunger demon appeared, protesting that they were killing the creatures on which it fed. It would tell them where the key was, if only they would stop. Hawke refused to take the deal. She didn’t want to become that thing’s next meal. Demons were something you did not mess with. Even if it hadn’t been drilled into her by her father, Maker, hadn’t she seen what happened to people who consorted with demons? How many abominations had she killed in Kirkwall? Besides, if the demon was offering them a key, that meant there was a door. And where there was a door, there was a way out. 

After sending the demon back to the fade and hacking their way past more shades and rocks, they found the door. Right behind the enormous rock wraith. 

In addition to summoning more rock creatures, the wraith shot bolts of electricity and tried to smash them with its rock limbs. Boulders flew everywhere. Anders and Varric partly hid behind nearby pillars, while Hawke and Fenris relied on speed to keep from being crushed. Suddenly, the wraith began to hover. It gathered up some kind of radiant red energy and hurled it at them. It was like nothing Hawke had ever felt -- made her eyes water, her bones shake, and every nerve sting. After the burst was over, the wraith seemed weaker and less able to throw the boulders around, at least for a time. She and Fenris leapt in and continued to pound at it. Eventually, it gathered up the energy again, sending an even stronger blast. It hurt worse the second time. She had to find a way to end it, before it fried them all. She put on a burst of speed, jumping as high as she could to jam both of her daggers into the creature’s single glowing eye. The wraith collapsed in a shower of stones and dust. 

“Does anyone need any healing?” Anders called out. 

“I’m fine,” she responded, and heard Varric do the same. But across from the falling debris, she saw Fenris stagger. He leaned against one of the pillars and used it to lower himself to the ground. His markings glowed, not the way they did when he used his phasing ability, but with a sickly sort of pulse. He sat very still, eyes closed.

“Fenris?” She leapt over the debris and rushed to him. 

“I am unharmed. The magic... triggered my markings.” He took a deep breath. “Danarius used to do such things to me for entertainment. I will be fine in a few moments.” He waved Anders off. The mage shrugged and followed Varric towards the back of the cavern.

Hawke knelt down beside Fenris. His eyes were closed, and he was pale and sweating. “Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head slightly.

She cursed the fact that she couldn’t touch him. She wanted to help; to loosen his armor, perhaps, to wipe the sweat from his brow, to push her fingers into his... She bit her lip. He opened his eyes to look at her, and she flushed.

“I am fine, Jade. I just need to rest.”

He’d never called her by her first name before. To cover her confusion, she dug into her pack and pulled out a bottle. 

“Healing potions will not help,” he murmured.

“How about water? I know I could use some.” They were going to have to find a source down here somewhere... most of their supplies had been left behind and they were running low. But that was a problem for later. 

Varric’s excited voice came from the back of the cavern. “Hawke! You’ve got to see this!”

She twisted open the lid of the water bottle and handed it to Fenris, who took a careful sip. “In a minute!” she called back. 

Fenris handed the bottle back to her, accidentally bumping her fingers with his own. They both started, and nearly dropped the flask between them. Hawke quickly screwed the cap back on. 

“Are... that is, you’re sure you’re alright?” She was fussing, it was probably annoying. She needed to shut up.

“Positive. In fact, I think...” he shifted experimentally. “Give me a hand up?”

She took a moment to stow the water bottle back in her bag before getting to her feet. “You’re sure?”

“I’m in pain, not mentally defective.” He sounded impatient.

Well, rude was a good sign. She stood, and held out her arm. He clasped her forearm, the lyrium-lined skin of his palm against her pulse. She wrapped her fingers around his gauntlet. Together, they pulled him up to his feet and slowly moved toward the back of the cavern to see if Varric and Anders had found the way out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m playing a little fast and loose with the timeline. The whole “3 years passed and nothing of interest happened” is hard to swallow in the game, but almost impossible in a story. The next few chapters take place during the gap.

Things had been going so well. They’d escaped the crypt, gathered enough treasure to repay their investment several times over, and found their way the old camp to pick up their abandoned supplies. They’d even managed the week long journey back to the surface without getting lost, thanks to Anders’ Warden maps. Varric was disappointed that they hadn’t stumbled over Bartrand’s corpse on the way, but even that was probably for the best. 

But then Hawke returned to Gamlen’s house to find Knight-Captain Cullen taking away her sister. All the success of the expedition suddenly seemed pointless. She’d failed in the job her father had given her; she hadn’t protected her sister from the Templars.

There was nothing she could do. It was only through the intervention of the viscount that her family escaped retribution for having hidden an apostate mage. Even that shelter was only offered because Bethany had chosen to go quietly.

Hawke’s friends were little help. Varric felt for Bethany, but was consumed with his own family problems. Anders cancelled out his genuine sympathy with too many attempts to use the situation to win Hawke over to his cause. Fenris was silent, which she took to mean he approved of what had happened but didn’t want to offend her by saying so. Merrill offered empathy and Isabela distraction, but she’d never been very close to either of them, and found little comfort in their words.

Aveline was the only one who understood Hawke’s guilt. The two of them had never been close, but they had fought their way out of Ferelden together. In spite of the fact that her late husband had been a Templar, Aveline had always felt a genuine affection for Bethany. She understood loss and how it felt to let down those she loved. Aveline didn’t offer false hope or tell Hawke it wasn’t her fault; she just offered a shoulder and a sympathetic ear. It was Aveline who helped her focus on Bethany’s last words to her sister: look after Mother.

So Hawke used her new wealth, traded on the viscount’s gratitude, leveraged any information Aveline could give her, and won back the rights to the old Amell estate. She hired workers to clean it up, repair what could be fixed, and replace what couldn’t. She spent hours with her mother talking over childhood memories so that she could restore the old house to what it had been. The project did bring some energy back into her mother’s step and some light into her voice. It didn’t bring Bethany back, but the distraction kept them occupied.

* * *

A few months later, Bodahn showed up on her doorstep, falling over himself with apologies for what had happened in the Deep Roads. He’d parted company with Bartrand as soon as they’d reached the surface.

“With all you’ve done for me and my boy, we owe you more than we can repay,” he insisted, and set himself up as her steward. Hawke was a bit uncomfortable that Bodahn felt he needed to atone for actions that were not his own, but she couldn’t deny his competency. He made her dealings with builders, merchants and -- Maker save her -- household staff much easier. The dwarves settled in quickly and easily, and she soon came to wonder how she’d done without them.

Hawke spent a lot of time on the move to Hightown; fixing up the estate, putting in appearances at the viscount’s court, helping her mother reconnect with old acquaintances. Aveline came by to visit sometimes -- the Amell estate was mere steps from the viscount’s palace -- but she saw less and less of the others.

“They miss you, you know,” Aveline scolded her gently one evening, while they sat drinking tea from her mother’s new china cups. Neither of them were quite at ease with the delicate handles and fragile edges. “Varric says he’s entirely run out of things to write about.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Hawke said dryly, as she carefully set down the cup in its rickety saucer. “How is everyone, Aveline? Do you go down and meet them at the Hanged Man?” 

“Sometimes I do, when I’ve been out on patrol,” replied the guard. “It’s nice to hear what people are up to.”

“I hear about Varric from Bodahn, sometimes -- stories from the Merchant Guild. He has quite a reputation for disrespecting dwarvan tradition,” Hawke said with a smile, thinking of Bodahn’s scandalized tones. “What about Anders? And... the others?”

“Anders is still running his clinic, though there are fewer refugees than there used to be. He comes out to play Wicked Grace sometimes, but he says Justice doesn’t like it when he drinks too much. Isabela... hasn’t changed.” She made a face, and Hawke laughed. “Varric has all but adopted Merrill. She’s adjusting to city life a bit better, but she still hasn’t a clue about being careful on the streets at night. I don’t know how she’s survived living in the alienage."

“Poor Merrill. Probably poor Varric too, if he’s coughing up protection money for her,” Hawke snorted. Funny that the dwarf should have taken such a shine to a blood mage elf; but for all his wild tales, Varric undoubtedly had a soft side. Even his crossbow was more of a pet than a weapon. She took a sip from her almost-cold cup, and hesitated a moment before asking, “What about Fenris?”

“I know he's still squatting in that old estate, because I’ve had complaints,” Aveline said crisply, “but I haven’t seen him for months. I asked him to help train my guard in Tevinter fighting techniques, but he refused. I hardly understand why -- he’s highly skilled and it would do my guards a world of good -- but we haven’t spoken since. I don’t think he goes out much.” She finished her own tea with a gulp and stood up. “It’s time I was getting back to the barracks. You should really go down to the Hanged Man sometime soon, Hawke. It would do you good.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Hawke!” Varric stood up abruptly from the table where he’d been having a serious-looking discussion with some dwarves she didn’t recognize. He strode over to where she stood, and gave her a firm handclasp. “Maker, it’s good to see you. It’s been ages.”

He made excuses to his companions, saying that they’d discuss their business later, and drew her off toward his rooms at the back.

“What brings you to the Hanged Man?” he asked. “I thought you were too good for the place these days.”

“I had a terrible sensation that I was missing something, and decided it must be the smell of stale vomit,” she answered airily. “You don’t get nearly enough of that in Hightown.”

“You can take the girl out of Lowtown, but you can’t take the Lowtown out of the girl, am I right?” He grinned, and opened the door to his rooms. “Now tell me, Hawke. What have you been up to?”

* * *

Three quick knocks, one slow, two quick. There, it was done.

She’d asked Varric for news about all their friends, but about Fenris he had been uncharacteristically reticent. “Maybe you should ask him yourself,” was all he said. It was unsettling. Varric had a story about everyone and everything. Didn’t he? 

So, fortified with a few pints of the Hanged Man’s finest, her feet had brought her here to Fenris’ estate. But maybe the elf wasn’t home. Surely it didn’t usually take him so long to answer the door? She gave the knock again, just in case.

She had given up and was turning to go when the door opened a crack. “Hawke?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” she asked brightly.

The door opened a bit wider. His hair was mussed, she noticed, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. 

“I wasn’t expecting anyone at all,” he said. 

There was a gleam of metal as he lowered his sword. Something was... not quite right about his expression, she thought. Hungover, maybe? Maker knew there was probably enough wine in that cellar to keep him drunk for years, if he wanted, but he seemed sober enough at the moment. He stood and blinked at her uncertainly, like he wasn’t quite sure she was really there.

“Were you sleeping?” she asked finally.

He stepped back, pulling the door open for her. “Come in, if you like.”

So she did, almost tripping over the broken tiles in the entry passage. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Are those... mushrooms growing out of the floor?” 

They were. Ugh. The elf only shrugged.

“Fenris, it looks worse than it did the first night we came here.”

He glanced around the room as if he’d forgotten what it looked like. “It needs to look abandoned,” he said. “The senechal has been trying to collect taxes.”

She looked around dubiously as she followed him up the stairs. “Well, it can’t be worth all that much, at this point. It may not fall down around your ears, but I wouldn’t bet on it.” They reached the study. He put his sword down on the table but remained on his feet, looking at her. Waiting.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’ve been...” she trailed off, pushing back her hair while looking for a suitable explanation. Avoiding you all? Wallowing in guilt?

“Putting down roots,” he supplied after a moment.

“That’s a nice way to put it, I guess.” And she supposed was true, though she hadn’t thought of it that way. “With Bethany in the Kirkwall Circle, there’s no question of going back to Ferelden. Not that... well.” She sighed. “She isn’t allowed many visits, so I haven’t seen her. Mother says she looks alright. We’re happier being close to where she is. And I couldn’t let Mother stay in Lowtown, not after what happened.”

He nodded, but said nothing. So much for a pleasant a social call, she thought. I’m whining, and he’s hardly said a word.

“So,” she tried again. “What have you been up to? Aveline said she hadn’t seen you down at the Hanged Man lately.”

“No.” He turned away from her, pacing toward the cold hearth.

“So you’ve just been sitting around, admiring the view?” she asked, trying to prod him into saying something. Anything.

“Sometimes I go to Darktown,” he said, looking into the ashes. “There’s almost always a fight to get into there.”

Well, she hadn’t wanted him to say _that_. “You go to Darkdown, by yourself, looking for fights.” Her voice went up a register. “Are you crazy? I don’t care how good you are with that broadsword, you‘ll get yourself killed!” 

He looked up, his expression unreadable. She worked to get her voice back under control, retreating to the safety of sarcasm. “If you have a death wish, I’m sure there are better places to go about it where you’ll leave less mess for the Carta to clean up. Sundermount perhaps? I hear the spiders are always hungry.”

Fenris said nothing. 

“On the other hand,” she continued, “I would have thought the point of escaping slavery was to be free. Difficult to enjoy the experience when you’re dead.”

The blankness in his expression started to give way to anger. “You think I am free? I have to stay ready. Danarius will come for me, and if I have been spending my nights drinking in Lowtown, do you think I would be prepared when he arrives? _Vishante kaffas_!” 

Hawke didn’t understand Tevinter, but she recognized a curse when she heard one.

Fenris continued with a snarl. “I go to Darktown because fighting is what I am. It’s what I was trained for, and it is what I am good at. What is the point of being a weapon with no one to fight?”

“You aren’t just a weapon, Fenris,” she argued. 

He stalked angrily toward her, his tattoos beginning to luminesce. “Am I not? Are you certain? I have no memory of ever being anything else.” He continued to move towards her, his eyes intense. 

Hawke made a small gesture. _My hands are empty, there’s nothing to fight here_. She would not show him the fear he looked for, though she felt it at the base of her spine. 

He stepped quite close to her before stopping abruptly. The light from his markings faded, and he pressed a hand to his face. “You need to go, Hawke. I am not fit for company.”

“Fenris,” she began. She needed a joke, a flirt, anything to change the mood. But her mind stayed unhelpfully blank.

When she didn’t move, he took two swift strides to his sword, and strapped it across his back. “If you do not go, I shall,” he snapped, and pushed past her, down the steps and out the door.

* * *

That night, she couldn’t sleep. Her brain came up with a million reasons why she should go to Darktown to look for Fenris. Some of them were even good ones.

Eventually she got up and lit a candle. She might as well do something useful while she was awake. Since she was twitching to hold her daggers, she would get them out and clean them; it had been some time since she had properly oiled her weaponry.

And if that wasn’t a metaphor Isabela would use, she don’t know what was. 

It had been a while since she’d done _that_ , either.

Turning the metal over in her hand, looking for rust spots, she noticed that her calluses had started to soften. Flitting about Hightown dancing attendance on her mother was all very well, but it wasn’t really who she was. Maybe Fenris wasn’t wrong to want to stay in fighting form. She resolved to speak to Aveline about joining the guard for sparring practice.


	12. Chapter 12

Keran, the Templar they’d rescued from the blood mages ages back, had fallen on financial difficulties after losing his job. Varric picked up the rumor and passed the story along to Hawke. She hadn’t really tried to stop Knight-Commander Cullen from firing the boy, she remembered uncomfortably. He hadn’t seemed possessed, but she hadn’t been certain, so she’d stood aside and let the Knight-Commander manage his staff as he saw fit. Now that she heard about Keran’s troubles, she wished she’d been a little less helpful. She agreed with Varric that maybe they ought to see if they could help.

“Tevinter moneylender, hmm?” she said aloud. “Let’s go have a chat with this Senestra. What could possibly go wrong?” They exchanged a grin, before Hawke turned away with a deliberately casual air. “Would you see if Fenris and... hmm, maybe Merrill can join us?”

“You aren’t going to ask them yourself?” Varric sounded surprised.

“I have some errands to run for mother.” Even with her back turned, she felt his eyebrows soar. 

"Seriously, Hawke? That's the best excuse you can come up with?" 

She plastered sincerity all over her face before turning around, but Varric’s expression said he wasn’t buying it. She gave in with a sigh.

“The last time I dropped in on Fenris unannounced... it didn’t go very well.”

Varric shook his head. “I’d say I told you so, but it wouldn’t do any good would it?”

“You _didn’t_ tell me so. You said if I wanted to know how Fenris was doing I should go see for myself. And I did. And... it wasn’t good.” 

She saw agreement in Varric’s eyes. 

“I’d rather not spring myself on him again quite yet,” she admitted. “But I’d like him to come; threatening Tevinter moneylenders might make him at least a little bit happy, don’t you think?”

* * *

“Andraste’s ankles, why did you let me get so out of shape?” she panted at Varric.

“Just trying to make the rest of us look better, Hawke,” he replied with a grin, slinging Bianca over his shoulder.

He looked over the group of them with a calculating expression. “But maybe I should see what I can do about finding us some more jobs. It’ll be terrible for our image if one little moneylender tires you out.”

It hadn’t really been just one moneylender; the docks at night were crawling with undesirables. First, they’d come across a band of dwarves with a serious attitude problem, and Senestra herself had an entire team of enforcers. Still, Hawke conceded the point. She did want to get back in fighting shape. And she didn’t think she was imagining a second layer of meaning under Varric’s words -- she wasn’t the only one who could use some constructive activity. 

Besides, Senestra had seemed to think someone would pay to have Hawke dead; that was interesting information. Not interesting enough to keep Fenris from punching a hole in her chest, but still. Keeping in shape might be safer.

All in all, it had been a successful night; and not only because Keran’s money problems had been solved.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day, Hawke was knocking once again on Fenris’ door. He answered promptly but warily.

She ignored his expression. 

“Can I come in? Just for a moment. I have something for you.” 

She nudged her way inside and pulled a volume bound in red from behind her back.

“It... it’s a book.” He looked so nonplussed she had to smile. It was good to see some sort of emotion on his face besides anger. 

“It’s a subject you’re familiar with,” she said. “It’s about Shartan, the elf who helped Andraste free the slaves.” 

Fenris continued to look at her oddly. 

“Are you familiar with the story?” she asked.

“A little, it’s just...” He shifted uncomfortably. “Slaves are not permitted to read. I’ve never learned.”

Ah. Awkward. Well, she’d wanted to give him something non-deadly to do... 

“It’s not too late to start!” she said as cheerfully as she could.

“Isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder,” he muttered.

She held the book out to him. When he made no move to take it, she began to flip it up and down with her fingers. He raised an eyebrow, but she grinned and kept at it. 

“I can do this all day,” she informed him.

Finally he gave up, taking the volume from her hand. 

“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful,” he said. “I do appreciate the thought. I’ve always wanted to learn more of Shartan. Perhaps this is my chance.” He offered her a weak smile.

“Come by tomorrow,” she offered. “You haven’t seen the house yet, and we’ll take a stab at the reading thing.”

His eyes skittered away from her, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Fenris. You speak three languages, you’re familiar with history and philosophy, plus half a dozen different fighting styles. You are not going to be defeated by an alphabet.” 

She deliberately reached out her finger and tapped the center of his chest plate. He tensed but did not move. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a free man now, Fenris. What better way to prove it then by pursuing knowledge that was forbidden?”

* * *

Later, Hawke went to visit Anders at his clinic. Three families were lined up for treatment. She grabbed a seat on a crate by the door, hooked her arms around one bent knee and settled in to wait her turn.

Anders didn’t look at her directly, but something about the set of his shoulders told her he knew she was there. The mage was gentle with his patients, but looked a bit gray and rumpled, and lacked his customary grace. She wondered if Justice had forgotten he needed to eat and sleep.

When Anders finished with his patients, he saw the last of them out, blowing out the clinic lamps before coming back inside to acknowledge Hawke. She’d barely said hello before his list of grievances began. The city was in a state of collapse. Gangs ruled the lower parts of the city, beating and robbing the innocent. Templars cared only for finding mages, not helping the poor – they had been raiding the refugee camps, practically on his doorstep. The Knight-Commander was out of control. All mages and their families were in terrible danger.

She wondered how long this rant had been building up. He almost seemed to be holding her personally responsible for all that was wrong in Kirkwall, growing increasingly upset as he enumerated the Templars’ crimes.

“Everyone I know, forced into hiding so they won’t be made tranquil!” He finally paused for breath, his eyes gleaming with blue light.

“Justice must not know where to turn first!” she said, pretending not to see the spirit behind his gaze.

Anders’ hands fluttered and he started to pace. “In the fade there is no time. Emotion rules everything. Justice doesn’t know how to sit idle until the right moment to strike. And I can’t say I have any greater patience.” He turned to face her again, and his voice became softer. “I fear what my anger has made of my friend.”

You and me both, she thought. Levity hadn’t reached him; maybe force would. She dropped her casual posture and leaned forward to fix him with a glare.

“You chose to merge with him,” she said firmly. “Only you can make it work.”

“I am trying,” he said. “I have not attacked the Templars openly. I’ve helped the mages here as best I can.” A hard edge crept back into his voice. “But this impasse cannot last. One day, everyone in Kirkwall will have to choose a side.”

By everyone he meant Hawke, of course. This was getting nowhere.

“Well,” she said crisply, hopping down from her perch, “as enlightening as this has been, I came by for another reason. Varric is arranging some more jobs for us. There are a lot of people in Kirkwall that need help,” Anders didn’t need to know that was mostly a secondary side benefit, “and I’ve decided to keep my hand in. I’m re-instituting the weekly meetings at the Hanged Man.”

She added more kindly, “I know our obligations have technically been cleared, but I’d like to have you along.”

A few different emotions flitted across his face before she could place them, but he settled on grim. “A lot of important work takes up my time. I have an obligation to the mages of this city.”

Justice, you are such a pain in the ass, she sighed inwardly. Instead of giving voice to that thought, she shot Anders her most charming smile. 

“Think of it like this. You know who I run with, and what kind of advice I’m likely to get from them.” She gave him a second to digest that. “Come with me. Give us the mage perspective.”

Did he look tempted? She thought so. She stepped closer. 

“Look. I can’t promise that I’ll always do what you want me to. But I can promise that I will listen to what you have to say.” She smoothed his ridiculous feathered pauldrons, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Think about it. Come to the Hanged Man tomorrow night and let me know what you decide.”

She kept her step light and quick until she was safely out the door and down the stairs, then stopped to take a deep breath and rub at her temples. Anders was far too twitchy; he needed to spend more time with other humans and less time alone with Justice, that was clear. At least she’d cornered him so he’d have to come out tomorrow. If they didn’t have jobs to plan yet, they could at least drink, play cards, and talk. It would be good for all of them to get out for a while.

* * *

The next day, Hawke discovered that while it had been a great idea in theory, teaching Fenris to read was far harder than she’d bargained for. Just learning the letters and what sounds went with them was a struggle for someone who’d never paid attention to symbols before, and fingers that held a broadsword for hours without tiring were shaky when wrapped around a pen. She did her best to be calm and patient, keeping her tongue under control even though his frustration and embarrassment made him surly.

Over the next few weeks, their library study sessions ended abruptly more often than not. Fenris would lose his temper and storm out, either because he was “too stupid,” the whole thing was “a pointless waste of time,” or occasionally because he “couldn’t concentrate with Hawke looming over him like that.”

She quickly realized that the best thing was to ignore his flashes of temper. In a few days, he would return, and they would pick up where they left off. He might get frustrated, but he was also eager to learn the skills of a free man. Slowly but surely, they began to make progress.

* * *

A month or two of getting together weekly at the Hanged Man for planning and card games improved everyone’s mood. Anders said nothing further about being too busy to rejoin them. He relaxed slightly and lost the strange luster to his eyes. Fenris gradually re-learned the art of conversation. Merrill thrived on the companionship, asking everyone a million silly questions until they were tempted to sit on her to get her to be quiet.

Even Isabela, of all people, pulled Hawke aside to buy her a drink and say she was glad they had met. Granted, the conversation quickly devolved into dirty jokes and come-ons, but Hawke thought it might be the only way Isabela knew how to express affection. She had to admit that the pirate did a lot to lower tensions in those first few meetings, if only by giving everyone a joint cause for eye-rolling.

Aveline clapped her hand to Hawke’s shoulder in an approving way the first evening her duties allowed her to join them. “I told you so,” she said, but her tone was kind and her smile genuine.


	14. Chapter 14

Hawke and Fenris were in the library, seated side by side at the desk. Fenris’ reading lessons had progressed from letters to syllables, and then to simple words. She hoped to start the story of Shartan soon, but first they needed something with simpler language. So she’d ransacked the library for an easier book that the elf might find remotely interesting. 

The old Amell library had remained largely intact, particularly upstairs. She’d eventually come across a book of fairytales with her mother’s name in childish scrawl across the inside cover. Thumbing through it, she recognized the stories; her mother had repeated them from memory to her own children. It seemed appropriate, and she took it down to the desk. Even if Fenris finds them boring, at least I’ll enjoy listening to them, she thought.

So now they were seated at the desk, the book in front of them.

“Try that sentence again from the beginning,” Hawke suggested. The old tales were drawing her mind back; she could almost see Carver stumbling over a book at the kitchen table, gnawing his lip with frustration while her mother smoothed his hair and gently pushed him to keep trying. 

She found the same tones creeping into her own voice, and unthinking, she gave Fenris a gentle bump with her shoulder to urge him forward.

He hissed in surprise, and Hawke jumped. 

“Sorry, I forgot,” she said. “It didn’t hurt, did it?”

“No, it... didn’t hurt.” He looked more startled than upset.

“I’ll sit farther back,” she suggested, sliding her chair a little more to the left. “You looked so much like Carver for a moment; I couldn’t resist the urge to thump you.”

“Carver was your brother?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Reading was harder for him than for Bethany and me. He always much preferred hitting things. Mostly his sisters.” She made a wry face. “He’d have been a lot of help here in Kirkwall. He was a whiny brat sometimes -- a lot of the time -- but I miss him.” She brushed the page in front of them. “I actually chose this one because it was one of his favorites. ‘The Boy Who Went Forth to Learn About the Shivers.’”   
She looked at the book without seeing it. “Wishful thinking. All of us were afraid, in those days.” 

Bethany had come into her magic around then; that meant two mages to hide, one untrained and uncontrolled. They’d had to move when Bethany had panicked and accidentally singed one of the neighbor’s bullying sons. 

Hawke was interrupted from her reverie as Bodhan bustled importantly into the room, holding forth a card, closely followed by Leandra. 

“Oh Jade,” she burst in excitedly, before Bohdan had a chance to speak. “It’s a summons from the viscount! He wants to talk to you personally.”

Bohdan repressed a frown at having been made redundant, and handed Hawke the card. “As your mother says, Messere, it’s a summons from the viscount. He wishes you to attend him as soon as possible.” He bowed. 

“I wonder what he could wish to see you about?” her mother wondered. “Maybe it’s to do with the estate?”

Hawke sighed, and reached for the crimson ribbon she was using to mark their place in the book. Why her mother had bought given Hawke a hair ribbon, she didn’t know; it had always been Bethany who enjoyed them. Hawke herself hadn’t worn ribbons in her hair since she was ten years old. But her mother had been feeling nostalgic lately, so Hawke had accepted the gift as graciously as she could. Fortunately, when doubled over it made a sturdy book marker.

“I guess I should see what this is about,” Hawke said as she stood up. “Sorry, Fenris.” 

“Not dressed like that, young lady,” her mother cut in. “You have a moment to change, if you hurry! I don’t see why you wear those clothes in the house, anyway.”

“I’ve seen the viscount in my leathers before, Mother,” Hawke explained.

“Not since you’ve been living in Hightown. Important people will see you at court. Maybe you’ll even run into Seamus,” Leandra beamed.

“Maker, Mother. Seamus is just a child. He only speaks to me because we rescued him from that horrible Winters woman.” Hawke frowned. “And because I don’t froth at the mouth when he supports the Qunari,” she added.

“Seamus is of legal age,” her mother pointed out, “and at the very least you should court his influence, Jade. Now go and change, don’t keep the viscount waiting.” Leandra bustled off and Bohdan followed her, leaving a rather embarrassed Hawke behind. 

“Mother...” She rubbed her face, then peeped at Fenris from between her fingers. He didn’t look amused or angry, he looked... thoughtful. She supposed the mother-daughter dynamic might seem strange to him, since he had no memories of his own family. 

“I apologize for my mother,” she said, still from behind her fingers.

“There is no need,” he said, rising. “I can see myself out.”

“Jade!” Leandra called from the upstairs gallery. “Don’t keep the viscount waiting!”

She groaned. “I guess you’d better. Apparently I’m going to change, because Maker forbid someone see me in my regular clothes.” She moved to the door. “Meet me at the Hanged Man tonight? And stir up Varric and the others, if you can. I don’t know what the viscount wants, but I doubt he’s summoned me to declare his approval of what we’ve done with the estate. There might be some action in it.”

Fenris nodded, and Hawke grumbled her way up the stairs to change.

* * *

Her chat with the viscount was surprising, to say the least. Apparently the Arishok had asked to see her -- by name. She hadn’t been aware he even knew her name. He hadn’t seemed to care when last they met, although... what was it he’d said to Fenris? “I have a growing lack of disgust for you”? Something like that. She’d ask for Fenris’ and Varric’s thoughts tonight, and get them to go along with her tomorrow to pay the Arishok a visit.


	15. Chapter 15

Hawke and Fenris often walked home from the Hanged Man together. Even when he seemed tired of the company, as he had tonight, he would linger around the edges of the group until she was ready to leave. Sometimes they chatted as they walked, but today he paced briskly beside her without a word. As they approached the Merchant plaza stairs, he finally spoke. 

“It’s been three years. There’s still no sign of Danarius. I wonder if he’s finally given up?”

So that’s what had been on his mind. He’d been quiet since this afternoon, now that she thought about it. 

Hawke gave him a sideways smile. “Don’t tell me you’re going to miss all the attention?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. They finished climbing the stairs in silence. 

He stopped once they’d reached the top. “Tell me, what do you do when you stop running?” he asked.

“Didn’t you see me the other night? You keel over trying to catch your breath.” Humor, the Hawke family defense mechanism. At least I got something from dear old Dad, she thought. 

She had always been crap at serious conversations. Fenris didn’t seem to want to take her up on the joke, though, so she tried again. 

“Take a look around, start over. Build something new.”

He made an impatient movement, and resumed walking. 

“I don’t know how,” he said after a moment. “My first memory is receiving these markings. The agony wiped away everything. Whatever life I had before I became a slave... it’s lost.” 

He took a few more steps and let out a disgusted sigh. “I shouldn’t trouble you with this. My problems are not yours.”

Andraste’s ankles, Varric had a point about the broody. 

“Ah, but I’m a helper, as Isabela likes to say,” she said. No reaction. She gave a small sigh. “That’s what friends are _for_ , Fenris.”

When he still didn’t answer, she broke out the charming rogue grin. “If I can’t fix your problems, perhaps I can give you a few new ones to think about instead.” 

“Huh.” He smiled, perhaps in spite of himself, and pried his glance up from the cobblestones. “Only a few?” 

“Well...” she pretended to consider the matter, and deliberately looked him over. “I suppose it depends on how hard I work at it.”

She expected the uncomfortable-but-flattered laugh that usually met her more outrageous sallies. Instead, his eyes met hers directly. 

“Tempting,” he said. 

Was he really choosing this moment to take her flirting seriously?

“You’re a beautiful woman, Hawke. Is there no one else who has your... attention?”

He was. Maker. Don’t say anything stupid, she told herself firmly. But when she opened her mouth… 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that first part?” 

The elf chuckled. “I don’t need to repeat the obvious, I’m certain.”

“Obvious, is it?” She was fairly certain she was blushing. She hoped it was too dark for him to notice.

However, he’d asked her a question, possibly an important one, and she hadn’t answered it yet. 

“As for my attention...” she circled, indicating the empty square and the quiet night all around them. “Do you see anyone else here?”

He shook his head, serious again. “I’m an escaped slave and an elf, living in a borrowed mansion,” he pointed out as they neared her front door. “None of those things bother you?”

“I’m a refugee as well as a human,” she countered. She came to stop under the porch light, and turned to face him. “Does that bother you?”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “You have me there.” 

The breeze ruffled his hair slightly. She never understood how he could fight with hair in his eyes like that. It would have driven her crazy. Her hand twitched with the sudden urge to brush it back behind his ear. 

He was still looking at her. “You raise an interesting point,” he conceded at last. “I’ll have to... consider it.”

Hawke unlatched the door, her eyes still on Fenris. “You do that,” she murmured, and slipped into the house. 

She closed the door behind her, and leaned her back on it. The swirling in her stomach felt a little like elation and a lot like panic. So much for getting any sleep tonight.


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning found Hawke, Varric, Anders and Fenris at the Qunari compound down by the docks. Hawke had met the Arishok once before, when certain fringe elements had wanted to trade for the Qunari’s powerful non-magical exploding powder. Now a recipe for a powerful non-magical weapon had been stolen, but while the thief believed the recipe created the explosive powder, it actually made a lethal poisoned gas. The Arishok claimed he offered the opportunity for Hawke to stop the ensuing mayhem as a courtesy. 

Hawke had her doubts about that. The Qunari claimed to be residing in Kirkwall only because they were stranded after a massive storm destroyed their fleet of ships. But they had been here for years now with no apparent plans to move on; there must be some deeper game at work. But she shrugged off these thoughts; the Arishok and his mysterious motivations weren’t her problem to solve. 

She had mysteries to ponder much closer to home. She and Fenris had been carefully normal and correct all day. No mention was made of last night’s conversation. Hawke wasn’t quite sure what it meant that Fenris was “considering” her offer to give him “problems.” She wanted to shag him senseless, of course, and had from pretty much the moment they’d met. From the way he’d spoken... it seemed he might not be adverse to the idea. 

The thought of finally getting her hands on him made her shiver; but that was the problem, wasn’t it? How could this work when he wouldn’t let himself be touched?

* * *

A few days later, the recipe thieves tracked down and the gas dispersed, Hawke had planned some quiet time at home. But now she was dying to get out. Her mother had been on her back all afternoon. First she critiqued Hawke’s grooming and the contents of her closet, then urged her to cozy up to Seamus, and finally regaled her daughter with tales of plots find her a “proper Hightown husband.” 

Hawke could think of almost nothing less appealing than being tied down to some soft noble-blooded fool who expected her to wear dresses -- dresses! -- and host parties; to sheath her daggers for good and stay home to... what? Drink tea out of those stupid flimsy cups? 

She made her escape, hoping to find Varric at the Hanged Man, but he wasn’t there. Apparently he did leave the tavern occasionally apart from when he travelled with Hawke, which was news to her. Maybe he had a Merchant’s Guild meeting. She thought about staying put and waiting for him to return, but even Isabela was out, and the Hanged Man wasn’t really a good place to sit drinking alone. Solitude didn’t appeal to her, anyway.

Where else could she go? Fenris would almost certainly be home. 

Merrill’s place was just around the corner; she’d pop in to see the mage. But there was no answer when she knocked. I hope the silly elf hasn’t gotten lost again, she thought with a snort as she turned her steps to Darktown. Anders would be working in his clinic, surely.

She just caught him on the way out. 

“Hawke,” he said with surprise. “Is everything alright?”

“Couldn’t be better,” she lied with a smile. “I just thought I’d say hello.” 

“You don’t need anything?” He sounded suspicious. 

“People have been known to drop in on their friends from time to time; you know, for company? You should look into it. Maybe Justice gets lonely down here with only you to entertain him.” 

“Justice and I are one,” he explained for the hundredth time. 

“It was a joke, Anders. You used to be able to tell.” It came out a little sharper than she’d intended. 

He shifted. “I’ve got a… medical emergency. No time for jokes right now.”

“Delivering the babies of Darktown again?” she asked, indicating the bag he carried.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

She’d surprised him again. “I appreciate the thought, Hawke, I really do. But no, not tonight,” he said.

“I see. Mage business, then.” 

“Yes,” he said firmly. “And as much as I’d like to discuss it, I can’t. For everyone’s safety. And I have to go.” He changed his grip on the bag and started to edge past her. 

“Yes, yes, fine. Go,” she stood aside and let him pass. “Good luck and be safe.”

“Thank you,” he said before hurrying away.

There was no avoiding it, then. She was out of excuses. Hawke turned her steps back to Hightown and the one person she’d wanted to see in the first place.


	17. Chapter 17

Fenris’ front door moved under her hand when she went to knock. She pushed it open, gently, and stepped inside. Was something wrong? The house seemed quiet, and looked just as wrecked and abandoned as it always did. She cautiously made her way to the foot of the stairs.

“Don’t lurk in the dark, Hawke,” Fenris’ voice drifted down. 

He sounded unharmed, at any rate. When she reached the study, he was seated in his armchair facing the hearth, the room lit only by a small fire. The table beside him was littered with bottles. Here we are again, she thought, remembering the last time she’d found him like this. Only then he’d been sober enough to make it to the door. 

“How did you know it was me?” she asked from the doorway.

“Who else would it be?” he said with a lazy smile. 

She glared. “Fenris.” 

“I recognized your step,” he conceded. “You weren’t moving very quietly.”

“I’ve learned from experience that sneaking up on you is dangerous,” she pointed out, walking into the room. “Your door was open. What if it hadn’t been me?” 

“But it was.” He extended a bottle toward her with a conciliatory smile. “The last of the Agreggio. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. You’re just in time; there is still a bit left.” 

“And what is the occasion?” She pushed back the clutter on the table and hopped up to sit facing him, accepting the bottle from his loose fingers. 

“The anniversary of my escape.” He reached down to the floor beside him and picked up another half-empty bottle. “Vastio vala fumandes,” he said, as he raised it towards her in a toast, and they both drank. “Care to hear the story?”

As she sipped the wine, Fenris told her how he had been left behind on Seheron after the fighting between the Qunari and Teventir magisters forced his master to flee. Rescued by the rebel Fog Warriors, he experienced a life of freedom for the first time he could remember. But his time with them didn’t last long; his master eventually tracked him down.

“When Danarius came, they refused to let him take me,” he said darkly, and took a long pull from the bottle. “He ordered me to kill them. And I did.” His voice was bitter, and there was a slight catch in it as he finished. “I killed them all.”

Her heart ached forhim, but she carefully kept her voice light. “Once a slave, always a slave?”

“It felt inevitable,” he said hopelessly, turning the bottle in his hands. “My master had returned, and this... this fantasy life was over. But once it was done, I looked down at their bodies, I felt... I couldn’t...” He turned his head away. “I ran. And never looked back.”

Hawke drank her wine silently for a time. 

“How well did you know these Fog Warriors?” she asked eventually, to fill the silence.

“I knew them only a few months,” he answered, “but in that time, I felt as if I truly lived. They were bold, strong, free with their affections.” He glanced up at her from under his hair. “I was in awe of them, and owed them everything.” Again his voice caught. “And I turned on them even so.”

Time to shift the subject. “I have to wonder why you stayed with Danarius as long as you did.”

He snorted and drank. “You have not been a slave,” he said bitterly. “A slave does not dream of freedom, or wonder at possibilities. You think only of your master’s desires, and what the next hour will bring. It did not occur to me that I could be anything else, until I had a taste of it.”

The thought of him hopelessly stuck and not even aware of it filled her with anger, and she pushed to her feet. She wanted to kill this Danarius herself for what he’d done. Unable to sit still, she moved toward the fire. 

“I don’t see why you didn’t kill him right there,” she said through clenched teeth. 

“I wasn’t running from him, not at first,” he said. 

She turned to ask what he meant, but there was no need. The answer was on his face. It was himself he’d fled -- from what he’d done to the people who’d saved him, who taught him what freedom meant. Maker, no wonder he was afraid of getting close to anyone. It wasn’t Hawke he didn’t trust; it was himself. 

He’d stilled under her scrutiny. She realized suddenly that he couldn’t see her expression; with the fire at her back her face was in shadow.

She moved towards him, hesitating slightly before perching on the arm of his chair. Close enough, she hoped, to get her message across without actually touching him: I trust you, whatever you think of yourself. She wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how to do it without touch. She couldn’t take his hand, squeeze his shoulder, brush his hair behind his ear – not without violating his carefully guarded space. Instead, she knotted her hands together in her lap.

He sat perfectly still, watching her with wary eyes, as if he half expected her to yell or shake him. When she didn’t, his shoulders relaxed slightly; but still he looked at her as if expecting more.

When long moments passed and she made no further move, he took a deep shuddering breath. He turned his gaze to the bottle in his hands. He rolled it back and forth between his palms for a moment, then lifted it and took a long pull of the wine before looking back up at her.

“I’ve never spoken about what happened, to anyone. I’ve never wanted to.” His lips curved ever so slightly. “Perhaps this is what it means to have a friend.”

She smiled back, relieved. “That’s precisely what I’ve been trying to get through your thick skull,” she said, glad to be back on solid ground. “It’s good to see I’ve finally made an impression.” 

He gave a soft snort.

They sat and watched the fire for a time in silence. Hawke was uncomfortably aware that Fenris was very close; close enough that she could feel his body heat. She swallowed. Perhaps solid ground was overrated. 

“In this case...” she said quietly, picking up the conversation where they had left it, “it might mean more than that.”

She reached out tentative fingers to brush the back of one gauntleted hand. He drew in a quick breath but did not pull back.

“I... have never allowed anyone too close,” he said hesitantly, his eyes on her fingers. “When my markings were created, the pain was... extraordinary. And the memory lingers.” He looked up. “But you are unlike any woman I have ever met. With you, it might be different.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” she asked gently. 

“If there was someone before, I have no memory of it,” he replied.

She bit her lip. “Not even after you escaped?”

“I stayed nowhere for long,” he said. “Who would I trust? I didn’t think I needed anyone. Or wanted anyone.” He gently rotated his hand to touch his palm to hers. “Until now.”

Hawke curled her fingers lightly between his, her heart pounding. His skin was warm and slightly rough, callused from years of holding a sword. She felt the heat of it down to her toes, uncurling in her belly. 

When she could no longer bear his stillness, she whispered, “We could find out.”

Fenris took a deep breath, then slowly withdrew his hand. He gave her a rueful smile. “On another evening, perhaps.”

She bit her tongue. She shouldn’t push him. Oh, but she wanted to. 

He raised his bottle. “A last toast, then,” he said, and after a moment, she reached for the last of the Aggregio and lifted the bottle to clink against his. 

“To the fallen,” he said, and they both drank.


	18. Chapter 18

They had been on their way to the Wounded Coast when the armed men accosted them from the bluffs. “Stop right there! Back away from the slave now and you’ll be spared.” 

“They’ll never learn, will they?” Hawke sighed. She called back, “Fenris is no one’s property!” 

Not that she thought they’d stop to discuss the matter, but it was worth a try. It might give Varric and Anders a few moments to prepare, at least. 

She was right; the Tevinters didn’t want to chat. The men slid down the bluffs, swords raised for attack. 

Fenris growled and charged into them. Hawke jumped in to disable their mage before he could get a off a spell. It was looking like it would be a short fight, when she heard Varric call out “Reinforcements! To the right!” 

She’d just slung a maismic flask at the new threat when she noticed more men approaching from the left as well. An ambush, then. She smiled a ferocious grin. These Tevinter bastards couldn’t build a trap strong enough to hold Hawke and her boys, even if the reinforcements did include more mages. Anders’ impressively effective tempest spell all but fried the left flank, Fenris had already brutally hacked his way through most of the center line, and Varric and Hawke decimated the right with dagger and crossbow. 

Fenris was on top of the last mage before Hawke quite knew the fight was over. He battered the man’s head against the rock, hissing in his ear. 

“I wouldn’t interrupt that, if I were you,” said Varric from behind her. “The elf looks like he’s got it under control. Nothing you can do but get more blood on you.”

He was probably right. “This was planned,” she said with a frown. “Fenris was just thinking maybe Danarius had finally given up. No such luck, I guess.”

The warrior had finished working over the mage, and broke his neck with a twist and a crack, dropping him to the ground. She tried not to wince. “What did you find out?” she called to him. 

“Hadriana,” he snarled. “I was a fool to think I was free! They’ll never let me be!”

“This is someone you know?” she asked.

“My old master’s apprentice,” he growled. “If she’s here, it’s at his bidding.” He turned away, and started walking. “I have to reach the caves before she has a chance to prepare, or flee.”

“What in the name of Andraste’s flaming eyeballs do you think you’re doing?” Hawke strode after him. 

He looked back, brow furrowed. 

She waved her hand between them as she closed distance. “Friends, remember?”

He frowned. 

“Apparently you’re having a Merrill moment, so I’ll spell it out for you. You are not going by yourself because that would be _stupid_. We,” she indicated the rest of the group, who were rapidly catching up, “are coming with you. Maker damned Qunari patrol can stay lost, for all I care.”

“Hawke...” he started. 

“No argument. Let’s go.”

* * *

“Did they touch you?”

They’d fought their way into the caves, cutting down Hadriana’s men and fellow mages, only to reach a scene of carnage. Bodies were stacked along the walls like cords of wood. Only one elf remained conscious. Fenris had asked the question; Hawke thought he meant to be sympathetic but she didn’t blame the girl for looking even more terrified. 

“They’ve been killing everyone! They cut Papa, bled him,” she quavered.

Hawke looked closer at the bodies. Each one was scored with a deep straight slice at neck or wrist. The girl was right; they’d all been drained. It was blood magic, then.

“Why? Why would they do this?” Fenris asked the girl.

“The magister... she said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her.” 

Fenris looked like he’d been punched in the stomach; in an indirect way, he was responsible for the death of all these slaves. Although the fault lay with those who had given the orders, not Fenris, Hawke understood why he felt responsible.

“This has been terrible for you,” she said to the slave girl. “I’m so sorry.”

“Everything was fine until today!” the girl protested. 

“It wasn’t,” Fenris growled. “You just didn’t know any better.”

“Are... are you my master now?” she asked Fenris.

“No!” he snapped, with a warding gesture. 

“But I can cook. I can clean!” she begged. “What else will I do?”

Maker, this has got to stop, Hawke thought. “The exit is that way,” she said, pointing. “Wait for us outside. You can come back to Kirkwall with me.”

“Yes? Oh praise the Maker!” The girl’s relief was pathetic. “Thank you!” She hurried out the door. 

Fenris turned on Hawke. “I didn’t realize you were in the market for a slave,” he sneered. 

“Don’t be an ass. I’m giving her a job, Fenris. A paid one. I don’t fancy her chances out there on her own, do you?”

“Ah then... that’s good. My apologies,” he said. He looked embarrassed and turned away. “Let’s find Hadriana and be done with this place.”

Hawke couldn’t agree more. This attack had Fenris reverting to the snarling wolf he’d been when they first met. The sooner they could resolve this, the sooner he would remember who his friends were -- and that he had friends. At least that’s what she hoped.


	19. Chapter 19

They eventually found Hadriana, some distance farther into the cave. Her face was defiant, but she stood well behind her band of armed guards and skeletons, fearful that her defenses would not hold. 

And she was right to be afraid; even with all the blood she’d spilt for power, she could not stop them. She summoned wave after wave of shades; Hawke and Fenris cut them all down. Finally Hawke able to knock away her staff, and Fenris pushed her to the floor.

He pulled back his sword to run her through, but she cried out, “Stop! You do not want me dead.”

“There is only one person I want dead more,” was his grim answer.

“I have information, elf. And I will trade it in return for my life!” the mage insisted. 

Fenris paused. Hawke could see his eyes narrow with interest, though his words were dismissive. “Pah! The location of Danarius? What good will that do me? I’d rather he lose his pet pupil.”

Hadriana pressed forward. “You have a sister, she is alive,” she said, her blue eyes gleaming. “You wish to reclaim your life? Let me go and I will tell you where she is.”

Fenris’ eyes slid over to Hawke. She took a step back, shaking her head slightly. “This is your call.”

Fenris sheathed his sword and stooped down over Hadriana, studying her. 

“So I have your word?” she demanded. “I’ll tell you, and you’ll let me go?”

“Yes,” he growled. “You have my word.”

Relief passed over Hadriana's face. “Your sister's name is Varania. She’s in Qarinus, serving a master by the name of Ahriman.”

“A servant, not a slave?” Fenris asked, eyes narrowed.

“She’s not a slave,” Hadriana said. 

“I believe you.” Then his tattoos flashed, and he tore out her heart.

Dead silence. Hawke swallowed, and she was pretty sure Varric heard it from across the room. 

Fenris looked down at the flesh in his hand and dropped it in disgust. “We are done here,” he grunted, and started for the door.

“Are you all right?” Hawke asked, tentatively.

“Don’t try to comfort me,” he snarled, wheeling to face her. “You saw what was done here. There’s always going to be some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this. Even if I found my sister, who knows what the magisters have done to her.” His eyes were filled with disgust. “What has magic touched that it doesn’t spoil?” 

Hawke opened her mouth and shut it again. She’d give him a minute to remember who she was, how many mages there were in her family, and who they travelled with. She could use the time to get her own temper under control.

He didn’t give her the chance. “I... need to go,” he said, and fled.

* * *

She silently helped Varric strip the bodies for valuables before they left. Even Anders didn’t have anything cutting to say, or maybe he’d looked at her face and decided against it. They collected the elf girl Orana outside the caves, and made their way back to the city. 

Hawke took Orana home and gave her over to Bodhan’s care. She then bathed, changed, and went downstairs. Walked through the library, shuffled through her correspondence. She couldn’t sit still. 

So she went to visit Aveline at the barracks. A mistake, she soon realized; she couldn’t really pay attention to Aveline’s wittering on about the crush she had on Donnic, one of her guardsmen. She did her best to listen and to be sympathetic, but it all seemed so stupid and unnecessarily complicated. She excused herself as soon as she could, but then found she was back on the street, at a loose end once again. 

She was just postponing the inevitable. Not immune to stupid myself, am I? she thought with a snort. 

So she went to Fenris’ house. Knocked, waited, knocked again, harder this time. Pounded, in fact. No answer. She picked the lock on his front door and let herself in. He wasn’t in the study; she searched the mansion top to bottom and found only empty rooms. There was no sign of Fenris anywhere. Balls.


	20. Chapter 20

Eventually, Hawke dragged herself back home. Shut the door, turned around, and there he was -- sitting in the foyer waiting for her. His shoulders were pulled forward, and his hands beat a restless tattoo on his knees. 

She closed in on him, ready for the attack, but Fenris didn’t wait for her to speak. He stood quickly, and took a step toward her. 

“I’ve been thinking about what happened with Hadriana,” he said. “I took out my anger on you. Undeservedly so. I was... not myself.” His eyes flicked rapidly over her face as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

A frank apology was not at all what Hawke had been expecting. Actually, it pretty much wiped out everything she’d been about to say. She frowned.

“I had no idea where you went,” she managed after a moment. 

“I needed to be alone.” He began to pace. “When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond, and she knew it. The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now...” His fingers clenched. 'I couldn’t let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“This hate... I thought I’d gotten away from it. But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me... it was too much to bear.” He made a noise of disgust, and turned toward the door. “But I didn’t come here to burden you further.”

“How many times...” she started, but he wasn’t listening. 

Reflexively she grabbed at his arm to stop him, catching the inside of his elbow. Skin against skin. His lyrium markings flared, and before she could take a breath he had wheeled, taking her by the arms in a bruising grasp and pushing her back, back, back.

They hit the wall. Fenris froze. The glow faded, but other than the rapid rise and fall of his chest, he did not move. Hawke’s blood pounded. They stood nose to nose, eye to eye. So close. Did he want to kill her or kiss her? Did he even know?

It was worth the risk, she decided. She deliberately leaned forward and brushed her lips across his.

As her touch had crumbled some sort of barrier, he fell into her. Hands left her arms and circled round her back, and his lips crushed to hers. She slid her hands up into his hair, pulled slightly to change the angle of his neck. She ran her tongue across his lower lip. He gasped, his lips parting, and she slid between them. They pushed and pulled, anger and need, lust and frustration. Yes. Maker, she had been waiting so long for this. 

A moment or a year later, she wasn’t sure which, they came up for air, and he started to pull back. It was Hawke’s turn to grab. “Oh no you don’t.” She spun him around by the shoulders and pushed him to the wall with her body.

She growled into his ear. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He made a tiny sound, his hands tightening around her waist. She lowered her face into his neck. He smelled like sweat and lyrium, smoke and metal. She was going to _eat_ him. She ran her tongue -- avoid the markings, don’t go there yet -- between the white lines to just under his ear. Nibbled at his earlobe, then worked her way out towards the tip with lips and tongue. He whimpered again, and blindly turned to find her mouth with his. 

One hand braced against the wall, body pressed against him, she ran her other thumb along the line of his jaw and down his neck. His chest plate preventing further progress, she slid her fingers around the back of his head, cupping the base of his skull. She teased at his lips with tongue and teeth. Spread her fingers, slid them up through the silver hair, grabbed hold, and pulled herself even closer.

Spiky. His armor was was poking her in a million places, and she wanted to get _closer_. It needed to come off. She let go of the wall and reached for his buckles. 

An echo of Bodahn’s voice from kitchens abruptly reminded her that they were, in fact, still standing in the entrance hall. Part of her didn’t give a bronto’s behind about Bodahn, her mother, the scandal or anything else. But she was supposed to be the responsible one... even if she’d never been very good at it. She worried his lower lip with her teeth one last time, then slowly pulled back. 

He panted a moment with his eyes still closed, then slowly opened them. “Jade,” he whispered uncertainly. 

She slid her fingers around his wrist. “Upstairs.”

* * *

Hawke lay beside Fenris, her right hand splayed across his chest, listening to their combined breathing slow, still tingling from the aftershocks. His skin was warmer where the lyrium marks crossed it; she could feel the lines burn gently against her palm and wrist. She felt loose and weightless. She could almost...

Half asleep, she felt him gently move her hand and slide out from under her arm. But she didn’t fully wake until she heard the clinking of buckles. She rolled over and watched as Fenris replaced his armor.

“Was it that bad?” she asked as he fastened the last strap. She did her best to make it sound like a joke. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not... It was fine,” he said, as he rose to his feet.

Oh. 

But her feelings must have shown on her face, because he stopped. “No, that is insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed.” He even smiled.

Except apparently that wasn’t true, because he was leaving. She sat up. “Is it your markings? They hurt, don’t they? I tried not to --”

“It’s not that.” He paced back and forth before the bed like a caged animal. “It's... letting go... I began to remember. My life before. Just... flashes.” He looked at his hands. ‘It’s too much, this is too fast. I cannot do this.”

“Can we... work through it? Slow down, or...”

“I’m sorry.” And he really did sound miserable. “I feel like such a fool. All I wanted was to be happy. Just... for a little while. Forgive me.” 

Without looking at her, he turned and strode out the door.


	21. Chapter 21

Three days. She waited three days for him to appear. At her house, at the Hanged Man, on the street, anywhere. Nothing. And she couldn’t ask the others, it was too... no. But she worried. What if something happened? What if he’d done something stupid? Worst of all, what if he’d left Kirkwall altogether?

* * *

She hadn’t expected him to answer her knock, not really. And his door was locked. Not that it had stopped her before, but... Shit. She pressed her forehead to the wood and sighed. 

A few minutes later, she was stepping out of the entrance hall into the great room beyond. The chill to the air and the state of the room would have led a stranger to believe the building was empty. She stopped just inside the doorway. “Fenris?”

She waited. Nothing. She fingered her daggers nervously, and moved forward to the bottom of the steps, and stopped again. “Fenris, it’s Hawke. Though... I’m sure you already know that.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry to intrude. It’s about business, not... anything else.”

She nudged a broken floor tile with her toe. They’d been expensive, once. What had this room been like when it was new? She waited in silence for a good minute. Still nothing. 

How long should she stand here? Clearly he was not going to come out of the study, assuming he was even there, and she couldn’t bring herself to breach his personal space any farther. It might be suicidal to try, anyway. She cleared her throat.

“It’s just... we promised Emeric that we’d look into the DuPuis mansion, remember? And Aveline won’t go, because the guard already got in trouble for searching there. We don’t know anything about this guy yet, but women are dead. It could be dangerous, and I need...” Her voice threatened to wobble and she paused. No wobbling. Deep breath. “I need your sword.”

Was that motion, just beyond the doorway? She couldn’t tell. “We’re meeting at Varric’s at sunset.” Yeah, that was unlikely to happen. “But the DuPuis place is just across the courtyard from here, if you want to meet us outside after dark.”

And what else was there to say? He’d be there, or he wouldn’t. She stood for another moment, looking into the shadows. Nothing. 

She reached into her pack and pulled out the book of fairy tales, the ribbon still marking the page where they’d stopped the day of the viscount’s summons. She gently placed it on the bottom step, then slipped out the way she’d come, locking the door behind her.


	22. Chapter 22

Hawke, Varric, and Anders trudged up the Hightown steps at moonrise, Varric grumbling all the way. 

“Why rich fools want to build their houses all the way up the blasted cliffs, anyway... You live here, Hawke, how do you put up with all these stairs?” 

She ignored him. It was all she could do to make her legs move. What if Fenris didn’t show? 

They reached the top and rounded the corner. Hawke’s eye caught a flash of silver. She was relieved for a moment, then a second wave of dread clenched at her stomach.

He said nothing as they approached, simply straightened away from the wall he’d been leaning against and moved toward them, his expression blank. Without a word, he fell into step behind Varric.

She should have greeted him when they first approached, she realized. The silence felt awkward. But she couldn’t very well turn around and say something now; that would only point out how awkward the lack of greeting had been. At least they didn’t have far to go. Maybe the others would assume they were being cautious not to raise the neighbor’s suspicions?

The lock on the DuPuis estate front door was harder to pick than Fenris’, or maybe it just seemed so to her unsteady hands. Regardless, she got it open eventually. They’d hardly stepped inside, however, before they were set upon by shades and a rage demon. 

Hawke split the party in two, leaving Varric to harry the shades at Fenris’ flank while she and Anders tackled the demon. Not their usual tactics, but it worked well enough. The elf and the dwarf mopped up the last of the shades just before the demon went up in a burst of sparks. 

She heard the rumble of Fenris’ voice as he made some comment to Varric, and her heart contracted painfully. She was careful not to turn. 

“Let’s see what else we can find,” she said over her shoulder, before heading up the stairs. 

* * *

They let the man go, in the end. Hawke couldn't help but feel sympathetic about his murdered sister, and while Gascard confessed to some use of blood magic in trying to track the murderer, that seemed to be his only crime. She half expected Fenris to protest, but he said nothing. 

Afterwards, they all walked together toward Lowtown, while Varric and Hawke discussed rumors about other jobs they might pick up. Fenris continued to trail behind them even after Anders left for Darktown, walking all the way to the Hanged Man before slinking back into the shadows with a flash of crimson and a shake of his head when she held the door open for him.

* * *

“So, Hawke, spill it,” said Varric, as their mugs clanked down on the table. “What’s going on with you and Broody?”

Shit. “Nothing.” She flopped down into a chair.

“I’m sure it’s perfectly normal for two people under attack to be more concerned with dangers of eye contact than with the things trying to kill them; it’s just that it makes those of us fighting next to you a bit nervous.” 

He leaned back in his chair and gave her a meaningful look. 

She hid her face in her mug. Varric was still gazing at her expectantly when she surfaced.

She sighed. “After we fought Hadriana, you know how he disappeared.” Varric nodded. “He showed up at my house that night, to apologize for what he’d said. Things... happened.”

“Things, huh. Good things?” he prompted with a smirk.

She buried her face in her hands, embarrassed. “Very good things. Incredible things.”

“But?”

“But afterward... he said it was too much.” She dropped her hands to pick at the wood of the table top, hoping she didn’t sound as pathetic as she felt. “He said... he’d had flashes of his old life, and he was sorry, and he left. Like he always does when things get intense.” 

She picked up her mug and all but drained it.

“From what you’ve said, he’s been on the run for most of the life he can remember. It might be an understandable instinct,” Varric pointed out. “Looks like he didn’t go too far, though.”

Hawke shrugged. “I didn’t know if he’d show tonight. I went to see him, to... but he wouldn’t come out. So I just... announced the plan to the empty room and told him to meet us.”

“And he did.” Varric sipped his ale and scratched absently at his chest. 

After a moment he grunted thoughtfully. “You aren’t going to like this, Hawke, but have you ever considered that he might think of you... well, as a surrogate master?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s just... _offensive_ , Varric. How can you even think that?”

“I told you you weren’t going to like it. But you have to admit, you’re quick to tell us all where to go, what to do, who to fight and how to fight them.”

She glared.

“It’s not a complaint, Hawke,” he said with a conciliatory hand wave. “A fighting company needs a commander.” His thoughtful look returned. “But the rest of the time... most of us have other things to do. Blondie has his clinic, Aveline’s terrifying the guard, Daisy tries to fix that blasted mirror of hers. I have a business to run and rumors to spread. But what does the elf do? He sits alone in that moldy old house like a ghost, waiting for his next set of instructions.” 

“He’s learning to read,” she said, happy to prove him wrong. 

Varric raised an eyebrow. “And whose idea was that?”

“Mine,” she admitted. 

“That’s what I thought."

“Alright, so he follows my suggestions,” she conceded. “But the thing he’s _waiting_ for is Danarius' next attack.”

“And in the meantime he's taking orders -- or suggestions, if you want it that way -- from you, Hawke.”

“That just... it doesn’t mean he’s serving me!"

“When you’re used to doing what you’re told...” Varric said with a shrug, “that might be a pretty subtle distinction.”

Hawke pushed her hair back from her forehead, frustrated. “First of all, he left, which was hardly ‘doing what he was told.’ Second, my efforts to... to enslave him with kissing have clearly been _so_ successful, since now he won’t even look at me.” She was reaching for the sarcasm; it sounded pretty weak, even to her own ears.

“He cares about you Hawke; no one who’s seen him loom behind you with that out-sized sword could think otherwise. I’m just saying maybe the balance of power is a problem.” He gave her a teasing leer. “Or maybe you were too much for him in the sack?” 

“Pity Bianca won’t let you find out,” she shot back. 

Varric grinned, and finished his ale. But Hawke ran her hands through her hair, thinking. Fenris had started to pull back, and what had she done? Thrown him against the wall... and told him she wasn’t finished with him yet. He hadn’t said no, then or later. But still... what if Varric was right? 

Andraste’s ass, she had made a mess of it. She looked up at the dwarf. “You tried to warn me, Varric. And I made jokes.” She let her forehead crash down on the table. “About porcupines.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure the porcupine joke was mine.” The dwarf stood up. “Take it easy, Hawke. I don’t think there’s any need to be tragic about it. Give him time to figure it out. Maybe he’ll come around.” He patted her shoulder. “For now, I think we could both use another drink.”


	23. Chapter 23

Hawke spent that night in Varric’s rooms. She hadn’t been all that drunk, but the thought of walking back to Hightown alone... it had been easier to give in to Varric’s suggestion and stay put. 

The next evening was meeting night, and the team had gathered in Varric’s rooms. Isabela and Merrill were gossiping in the corner, Aveline was sitting at the table pretending not to eavesdrop, and Varric was trying to make Anders laugh. Hawke knew she should get things started, but she was stalling. 

The hair rose on the back of her neck as the door creaked behind her. Hawke studiously did not turn around. He’d come, then. 

It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Varric was filling them in on the rumors of Bartrand’s return to Kirkwall that she braved a peek behind her. Fenris was leaning against the wall next to the door, his hair over his eyes. He seemed to be looking at the floor, but his posture was wary. She wished she could see his face. 

Just then, he looked up. Hawke quickly turned back towards Varric. 

A moment later, there was a whisper of movement and a creak. She didn’t need to look to know he was gone.

When the planning was finished, Hawke stayed seated, looking at the tabletop without seeing it. 

Varric pushed a mug of ale into her hand and hissed in her ear. “Hawke. Get it together.” She looked up, confused. “You’re making the troops nervous."

The room did seem to be unusually subdued. There was a low hum of talk, but the atmosphere felt tense, as if people were waiting for something. 

“If you’d like to keep this quiet, and I assume you would, you’d better start acting more normal. People expect the elf to brood, but if you do too...” he warned.

He was right. Buck up Hawke, she told herself. It's showtime.

She left the ale untouched on the table, and pushed herself to her feet. “Anders,” she called out, “are you certain there isn’t any magical cure for a hangover? Varric drank me under the table last night. I feel like someone’s jabbing ice picks into my eyeballs.” She smiled weakly at both mages. “Maybe Merrill’s demon friend has some suggestions? Because seriously, I might consider blood magic at this point.”

“Atta girl,” the dwarf muttered behind her.

* * *

Varric and Isabela had gone down to the main floor to listen for news that might lead them to the missing Qunari delegation, and they’d taken Merrill with them. Aveline had gone back to the barracks, and Anders had offered to help with Hawke’s supposed headache. She hadn’t seen any reasonable way to turn down his help since she’d just asked for it, so now she sat in a chair opposite him, his fingers kneading her scalp. It felt surprisingly good. 

“Your head really hurts that badly?” he asked as his fingers worked their way from the nape of her neck up toward her forehead. “I don’t feel anything too out of alignment. There’s a lot of tension, though... Let me try this.”

“This” was a slow heat which started at his fingers, ran over her scalp, down her neck, and along her backbone, relaxing every muscle in its path. 

“Sweet Maker,” she gasped. 

The heat continued through her, uncoiling muscles, releasing tightness she hadn’t known was there. Her breath shuddered, and her eyes suddenly burned. What if tension had been the only thing holding her together? Normal, she was supposed to be acting _normal_. Time to move. She pulled back from his fingers.

Anders released her head. After a quick look at her face, however, he followed her cheek with his hand, wiping the wetness away with his thumb. 

“Hawke... are you sure you’re all right?”

“All right?” She laughed shakily. “I think I’m in love. That was amazing.” 

She pulled his hand away from her cheek and gave his palm a kiss with theatrical enthusiasm. Then she pushed her chair back and stood up. “We’d better join the others downstairs, before I propose.” 

He hadn’t moved, and wore a concerned frown. She flashed him a smile that she hoped was flirtatious and headed for the door, wiping her cheeks surreptitiously as she went.


	24. Chapter 24

Hawke blinked awake from a disconcerting dream. Her arm was numb from being wedged under her body. How in the Fade she’d ended up in that awkward position... She flopped over on to her back and sighed as she attempted to coax life back into her leaden limb by wiggling her fingers. Maker, it was awkward enough traveling everywhere with Fenris during the day without the elf invading her sleep at night. 

Not that it had been a bad dream -- rather the opposite. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to get back to sleep thinking about it. She threw off the covers in disgust and padded barefoot out her dark room, down the hall to the window. The moon was still high overhead, pouring blue light on the rooftops of the sleeping city and through the window, making a puddle on the floor. She stepped into it and rested her forehead on the cool glass. 

She hoped she was doing the right thing. If Varric was even a tiny bit right, Fenris depended on her. And while it was in some ways tempting to avoid him – to leave him behind and arrange her outings around Aveline’s schedule – she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. And deep down, she knew she didn’t really want to. 

It served her right for getting involved with someone close. Hawke hadn't had real friends... well, not since she was young. As she got old enough to be privy to her family's secrets, that knowledge had kept her apart from everyone else. She'd had a lifetime of moving from place to place, never telling anyone too much for fear of discovery. Her companions in Kirkwall were special. Sure, there were times she’d wanted to strangle every last one of them. But when things got crazy, she could trust them to have her back. It was the first time she could remember feeling that way about anyone who wasn’t family.

She’d been stupid to let attraction get in the way. When Fenris started to open up to her and tell her about his life, that should have put him off limits. It didn’t matter how gorgeous he was. She should have just ridden it out, ignored it until he was so familiar that she wouldn’t see the way he moved, hear the rumble of his voice over everything else, or be tempted to say ridiculous things just to get his lips to twitch. 

If she had ignored the attraction, she wouldn’t be stuck trying to cobble a friendship back together from pieces. She had no practice doing that, no idea how to go about it. Varric seemed to think it was possible, so she’d have to trust that it was and keep trying. 

And Varric... she was worried about him too. The way they’d found his brother -- all those people dead, and the wild raving -- it had been awful. Varric had elected to put Bartrand out of his misery. She still felt guilty that they hadn’t had Anders along. There was no telling whether the mage would have been able to help, but Hawke had been feeling embarrassed and elected not to invite him. They’d never know if the mage could have done something, and now Bartrand was dead. Varric said everything was fine, but his humor was sounding pretty forced, and lately he’d been spending more time than usual on “paperwork”. Even if he and Bertrand hadn’t been close, the death of a sibling was hard. She ached to do something to help, but she didn’t know what. 

The window felt icy against her temple, and she shivered. It was too cold and too late to stand here trying to work out everyone’s problems. She should go back to bed, back to sleep, and back to another day of pretending everything was all right.


	25. Chapter 25

So Hawke continued to ask Fenris along on all their jobs, and he continued to join her, almost entirely silent except in the heat of battle, when she sometimes heard him swearing in Arcanum. It was still awkward, but she had to admit the day Justice went rogue, she’d been very glad to have him at her back. 

She’d agreed to help Anders look for evidence of Ser Alrik’s “Tranquil Solution” even though she was sure it was pure paranoia. The idea of making all mages tranquil just to put them out of commission was frankly ridiculous. To her surprise, it turned out to be more than just Ander’s imagination; Alrik was a nasty piece of work. When they caught him threatening a young mage down in the lyrium smuggler tunnels below the Gallows, Hawke had stepped in to protect the girl. After the ensuing fight, no one was going to have to worry about Alrik and his crazy ideas anymore. 

Unfortunately, Justice had taken over from Anders before the battle had even started, and he seemed unable to recognize that it was over. The bodies of the Templars lay all around them, but still he was shouting, “They will die! I will have every last Templar for these abuses!”

“The Templars are gone,” Hawke pointed out. “You can stop glowing.”

But Justice ignored her, purple light and strange black smoke pouring off him. She didn't know if it was pure Fade energy or not, and worried how much harm it might be doing to Anders’ body. 

The young mage they’d rescued began to panic. “Get away from me, demon!” she cried.

Justice turned on her, snarling. “I am no demon! Are you one of them, that you would call me such?” 

Hawke had to do something. “You are here under my command!” she snapped at the spirit. “Not another step.” Behind her, she heard Fenris unsheathe his sword. 

The possessed mage half turned back to her. “Justice answers to nobody!”

Fenris quietly moved to the right. He’d try to flank Justice and protect the girl if he could. She was confident he could take Justice out, but probably not without killing Anders. It was a last resort solution. 

“This is not the way to do it,” she said to the spirit, with all the authority that she could muster. She stepped closer, and glared right into the swirling purple eyes. “Save your fire for the Templars!”

Justice glowed more intensely for a moment, then began to convulse. Anders collapsed to his knees, hands over his face. His skin continued to flash for a moment, and then there was silence. Fenris kept his stance, sword at the ready.

Anders lowered his hands. “Maker, no. I almost…” he looked up to Hawke, and staggered to his feet. “If you weren’t here… I – I need to get out of here.” He fled. 

Only once he was gone did Fenris re-sheathe his sword.

* * *

She took Fenris with her when she went to confront him, after. Knowing how they loathed each other, she hated to do it, but she wasn’t sure she could manage Justice on her own. 

At the clinic, they found Anders packing, intending to flee Kirkwall and go “somewhere he couldn’t hurt anyone.” 

Hawke thought that was a terrible idea, and said so. “Don’t give up just because of complications. I thought you were more dedicated than that,” she snapped, trying to goad him out of his self-pity. 

It mostly worked. He was certainly offended -- claimed to want to strangle her, in fact -- but in the end he agreed to stay. 

She and Fenris left the mage to unpack, and headed back out into Darktown. She could feel the elf’s scowl boring into her back. Finally she turned. 

“Stop glowering and spit it out, Fenris.”

He looked at her for a moment warily before answering. “You should have let the abomination go.”

“Go where? And for how long?” She shook her head impatiently. “Think it through. He’s losing his grip on Justice. Do you think the spirit would really let him stay hiding in a cave somewhere? He would just start over, here in Kirkwall or somewhere else, but this time there would be no one to watch over him. If Anders is going to be a danger to himself and others, I want to know where he is and what he’s doing.”

Fenris looked about to say something, and then shrugged and looked away. 

“What?” she snapped.

He shifted, his expression both angry and uncomfortable. “I believe your judgment in this may be compromised.”

“Ah yes,” she interjected. “I’ve been touched by magic and therefore spoiled, as you’ve helpfully pointed out.”

Fenris made a strangled sort of noise, and picked at the red fabric on his gauntlet. 

It wasn’t the topic she would have chosen for their first real conversation since the night after Hadriana’s death, and it didn’t make her feel terribly optimistic about regaining his friendship, either. Neither of them were going to win this fight. She ran a hand across her eyes and sighed. 

“You apologized for that. I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I think... we just need to agree to disagree.” She turned back to the stairs. “Come on. Let’s go find something to hit.”


	26. Chapter 26

Another day, another successful mission, another night at the Hanged Man. Hawke swaggered over to their favorite table, a refill pitcher of ale in one hand and a glass in the other. She started to pour into Varric’s mug and then paused. 

“Are you sure you should be drinking? That was a pretty nasty knock on the head.”

“Blondie waved his magic fingers at it, I’m fine,” he said, shoving the cup closer. 

“Oh, Anders,” she said reproachfully as she poured. The mage looked up from the table. “You mean to say you do that miraculous headache thing for everyone?” 

No amount of teasing seemed to cheer him up these days, but she tried. She poured a mug for him as well while he was distracted. 

“And here I thought I was special. No, you drink that. Half a mug of ale won’t kill you, but the water they serve here seriously might.” She moved around the table to settle into an empty chair. “Water is not that color in nature.”

“I do use a purification spell on it first,” Anders said, in halfhearted protest.

Hawke pushed the glass from her other hand across the table to Fenris, then snagged her empty mug and poured ale for herself. When she set down the pitcher, Fenris was looking at her through his hair. He almost seemed reproachful.

“I thought it was the brandy you loathed least,” she said to the elf. “Did I remember wrong?” 

“No, you did not,” he said after a moment. 

“Good!” she answered lightly. “I’d hate to think I was going senile at this early age.” She leaned back and sipped her ale. 

“You seem awfully chipper this evening,” Varric remarked. 

“I’m just relieved that I’m not the one who has to tell the Arishok that the Chantry was involved in the death of his delegation. I seriously thought for a moment the viscount was going to ask me to deliver the news.”

“You mean you don’t think -- Hawke, isn’t that your uncle?” Varric interrupted himself.

“What, Gamlen? I didn’t think they let him in the Hanged Man anymore,” she said, turning. 

Gamlen had spotted them, and pulled his collar up to his ears as he hurried over. “There you are. I might have known you’d be at the bar. Where is your mother? Is she alright?”

“Why ask me?” Hawke replied. “I haven’t been home since this morning.”

“She never arrived for our weekly visit. I’ve been to your house and she wasn’t at home. Where could she be? Bodhan said something about her visiting a suitor? That he had sent her flowers? I didn’t know Leandra was seeing anyone.”

“She did say something the other day...” Hawke started.

“Flowers?” interrupted Varric. “What kind of flowers?”

“How should I know? There were lilies or something on the table,” Gamlen replied dismissively. “It hardly matters.”

Hawke exchanged a look with Varric and they both stood up. “White lilies?” she asked.

“I suppose. What’s that got to do with anything?” Gamlen looked confused.

“There’s a killer who has been abducting women. He always sends them white lilies first.” She was already halfway to the door. “Come on, we have to look for her. Now.”

* * *

Varric spoke to a few of his informants, and eventually found someone who had seen Leandra helping an injured man in Lowtown, moving in the direction of the Foundry district.

“I know Mother likes to be helpful, but I wish she had more sense,” Hawke groaned as they ran. Sure enough, there were suspicious blood puddles outside one of the buildings. Hawke picked the lock, and they moved inside. 

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” asked the dwarf. 

A chill ran down her spine and she nodded. “Last time we were chasing this guy. Mother must be here somewhere,” she said. “We need to have a look around.”

In a back room, they found a secret passage that they hadn’t noticed last time. Hawke tore open the trap door, and in a moment they were through and following a passage down into the lower levels of the foundry. The whole basement appeared to be inhabited by shades and demons. Worse than those, however, was the trail of grisly evidence: a woman’s lifeless body, a disturbing note admiring the slender fingers of Emeric's missing mage, and Hawke's mother’s locket. They were in the right place.

They followed the corridors, down another flight of steps, and came to what looked like someone’s living quarters; bed, books, a desk, and some horrible kind of altar, stained with blood and wax.

“This is quite a collection of books,” observed Anders, flipping through one of them. “Blood magic, necromancy… where did he get all these?”

Hawke stepped closer to the altar. In the center was gilt frame around the portrait of a woman in white. “The woman in this painting...” she said with growing alarm, “she looks almost like mother.”

“A shrine, dedicated to a wife, a sister?” he suggested, putting down the book. 

“I don’t like this,” Hawke snapped. “We need to find her. Now.”

* * *

Later, Hawke couldn’t recall much of what the killer had said when they found him. Her gaze had focused on the figure in the chair, who rose and moved in a shuffling mockery of her mother’s grace. It took her a moment to realize that her friends were fighting all around her, protecting her while she stared in horror. She shook herself into action. 

Demons, shades, corpses -- she mowed through the lesser enemies until the mage’s shield spell ran out. The others never had a chance to get a blow in -- she took him down in three strikes of her daggers. 

As she wrenched her knife out of his corpse, her mother staggered towards her. What was left of Leandra collapsed into her daughter’s arms. Hawke tried not to smell the decay that rose from her flesh.

From behind them, Anders murmured, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. His magic was keeping her alive.”

The woman's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, before she could speak. “I knew you would come,” she rasped. The voice was recognizable as Leandra’s, if only just.

“You know me, I always save the day,” Hawke answered, her smile bitter. She had made it, yes, but much too late. 

“Shh, don’t fret, darling. That man would have kept me trapped in here. Now I’m free. I get to see Carver again… and your father. But you’ll be here alone.”

Hawke hugged her mother’s fragile body -- was it even her mother’s body? She wouldn’t think about that. The tears started to fall. 

“I should have watched over you more closely. I should have...” she trailed off hopelessly.

“My little girl has become so strong,” her mother whispered. “I love you. You always made me so proud.” 

Hawke held her mother close as the light slowly faded from her eyes.


	27. Chapter 27

Hawke hadn’t cried since they’d burned the body. They’d done it there, in the foundry. One pyre for the mage's books and horrible writings, one for her mother. Bethany and Gamlen should remember Leandra as she’d been, not as she’d ended up.

Hawke stayed for hours watching the fires burn, the smoke getting into her eyes and clothes and hair. It was Varric who eventually pulled her away, leaving Fenris to guard the end of the flames and ensure the rest of the building didn’t catch. Anders gave her a potion to help her sleep. She accepted the flask, unthinking; it stayed in her hand until Varric took it from her and tucked it gently into her belt pouch. 

The dwarf made sure she got home, arranged for Orana to draw her a bath, and spoke to Bodhan to make sure the smoke got washed out of her clothes and her leathers cleaned. Then he squeezed her arm and left, for once without words. 

She let herself be herded off to the bath, washing mechanically until the water grew uncomfortably cool. She put on her waiting robe, and sat on the end of her bed. Soon after, Gamlen came and she told him the news. Not what had happened, there was no reason for him to know that. It was too awful. But she promised him that the killer’s days were over. 

“It won’t bring Leandra back, but I’ll take that,” he said. “I’ll deal with breaking the news to Bethany. You have enough on your mind. Take care, my dear.” 

Dimly, she registered that he’d never called her that before. 

Orana brought her some food, but she couldn’t eat. She was still sitting in the same spot hours later, staring at the fire, when a gruff voice came from the doorway. 

“I don’t know what to say, but I am here.”

She looked up at Fenris. He took a few steps into the room and halted, looking uncertain. 

“Am I to blame for not saving her?” she whispered. 

He gave her a helpless look. “I could say no but would that help?” He spread his hands. “You are looking for forgiveness, but I’m not the one who can give it to you.”

She closed her eyes. What was there to say? He was right. 

His footsteps drew nearer, hesitated, and then withdrew. When she eventually looked up, he was gone. Next to her on the bed lay her mother’s book of fairy tales. 

That night, she slept with the book on her pillow, one arm tucked around it.

* * *

Two days later, she knew she had to get out of the city. People meant well, but if she had to drink one more awkward cup of tea out of that stupid china with someone she’d barely met who presumed to tell her they knew how she felt -- she was either going to start screaming or stab someone. 

She’d promised Merrill weeks ago she’d take her to Sundermount to speak to the Keeper. It was a perfect excuse to leave town. Besides, the mountain was a dangerous place; surely there would be things to kill out there. And there were. Hawke let her anger out, unleashing it on the spiders, on the walking corpses, on the huge five-legged Varterral. Only Fenris kept up to her pace and matched her blow for blow. Only he seemed to really grasp the depth of her anger, even if some part of it was directed towards him. He even seemed to understand that, and accept it.

“Don’t you usually let Fenris go first?” asked Varric after a particularly unpleasant spider ambush had left her covered in gore. “You know, let the armored warrior bear the brunt of the attack?”

“Things I don’t care about today, chapter 1,” replied Hawke sharply, “bearing the brunt of the attack. Chapter 2: getting covered in spider guts. Chapter 3: what anyone else bloody well thinks.” She strode ahead. “I could keep going... You can make a list. Keep it for your blighted book.”

After that, he shut up.

Eventually, they’d killed everything there was to kill in the caves, and went back to the Keeper to report that the vir sulevanan had been completed, and the Varterral was dead. The Keeper turned to Hawke. 

“Because Merrill won’t listen, I give this heirloom of my clan to you for safekeeping. Please don’t let Merrill do this.”

She was stuck in the middle again. Could no one in the entirety of the Free Marches solve their own stupid problems?

She knew the Keeper was right about the danger of Merrill's project though, so she refused to hand over the Arulin’Holm to Merrill. The little mage sputtered with anger but Hawke didn’t have the energy to care. Blood magic was bad, the mirror was dangerous, and Merrill refused to see the risks. If she was going to act like a child, perhaps she should be treated like one. 

Rather than voice that thought or say anything else unforgivable, she cut the conversation short with an abrupt change of subject.

“That herbalist wanted some plants from the mountainside, I think. Let’s go find them and see what else there is to kill up here.” 

“What else” turned out to include a dragon. Not a high dragon, but still. It was plenty of challenge for a small party at the end of a long day. When they’d finally brought it down, Hawke smiled at Varric for the first time. 

“Now I’m tired and ready to go home,” she said. 

“It’s about sodding time,” said Varric.


	28. Chapter 28

Even after burning through some of her pent-up feelings on the mountain, Hawke found it difficult to spend too much time at home. If she wasn’t being bothered by people she didn’t want to talk to, she ended up alone with her thoughts. Either way, she was miserable. One afternoon she found herself upstairs, wandering from one side of her bedroom to the other. Eventually her eyes landed on the book of fairy tales which still sat on her bedside table. She ran her fingers across the cover thoughtfully. Perhaps reading would occupy her mind for a while. 

She curled up on the bed, and flipped the book open on her knees, turning through the pages. Where had she and Fenris left off? There had been a red ribbon to mark their place, but it seemed to be gone now. 

Her mother had given that ribbon to her. Had it fallen out somewhere? The last time she’d seen it... Her hands stilled. The last time she’d seen it had been when she dropped the book off for Fenris, a peace offering after that disastrous night. He’d returned it after her mother’s death, no doubt thinking she’d want it back since it had belonged to Leandra. But when he’d left it beside her there had been no ribbon inside. 

Fenris wasn't usually careless... perhaps he’d used it for something else. She chewed her lip. Red... He’d taken to wearing a bit of red fabric twisted around his gauntlet; she’d noticed him picking at it when they fought the other day. How long had he been wearing it? Was it her ribbon? And did that mean he’d forgiven her for what had happened that night? 

It was too much to contemplate right now. She just didn’t have the energy. She rolled off the bed and went to the closet for her leathers. It was time to go out.

* * *

One of Hawke’s increasingly frequent excuses to get out the house was to visit Anders at his clinic. She usually brought something with her – some health potions or bandages to replenish the clinic stock, or more often something for him to eat. Since the day that she privately referred to as “The Justice Incident,” Anders hadn't been holding together very well. He still looked after his patients at the clinic, but he had been increasingly moody lately, swinging from twitchy and cross to something like his old self and then rapidly back again. She had encouraged him to keep struggling with Justice, but now she worried that it was turning out to be more than he could handle. Checking in on him now and then was the least she could do. 

The unfortunate side effect of her visits, however, was his growing insistence on reciting passages from his mage liberation essays, his eyes pleading as he tried fervently to get her to side with him on his quest. She listened to as much as she could stomach of today’s impassioned speech before stopping him with a hand on his chest and a shake of her head. 

“That’s enough for now,” she said.

“I will make you see,” he insisted. “I swear, if I convince no one else in Thedas, I’ll at least have you by my side before this is done.”

“Anders,” she said more firmly. “You need to get outside into the sun, and stop spending all this time sitting around writing your manifesto.” 

She patted his feathers gently, though she could see it only made him angrier. Her tone had been a bit patronizing, perhaps. She had never been any good at calming people down; she wished, not for the first time, that Bethany were here. 

“I swear,” Anders stormed, “I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you.” 

Hawke’s laugh sounded slightly panicky, even to her own ears. She pulled away her hand and unconsciously put a little more space between them. 

“As neither of those options sounds terribly... practical, perhaps we should table the discussion instead,” she said. 

This seemed to shock him. “You’re backing down from a confrontation?” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve never seen you do that before, not as long as I’ve known you. You never retreat.”

“I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf,” she said brightly. “I think diplomacy is the way to go, don’t you? Mother always did tell me to mind my tongue. I think I’ll just be charming all the time from now on.”

He continued to study her intently, and her smile faded slightly. For all that he was obsessive to the point of madness, Anders was a friend. He wasn’t like the others, though -- either he didn’t recognize that her tone meant “do not enter” or else he didn’t care. It was probably the latter. 

“Is it because of Fenris?” he asked. “He told me the two of you were finished. That he left you.”

She choked out an incredulous laugh. “Fenris is confiding in you now?” 

Not that the elf had many options; he could hardly complain about Hawke to herself. Varric was obviously in Hawke’s camp, and Aveline didn’t invite confidences, while Isabela treated everything as a joke. Of the mages it was slightly more likely he’d talk to Anders, it was true, if only because the two of them argued all the time. 

“I asked. I was worried about you,” Anders said softly. His expression held a troubling mix of emotions; it didn't bode well for the direction this conversation was heading. She needed to make him stop.

“Oh yes,” she said, turning up the vivacity another notch, “Things worked out so well with Fenris that I’ve decided to sleep with _all_ my friends. It’s just that it’s not your turn yet. Varric’s next -- the irresistible chest hair, you know. Then Merrill, I think.” 

Getting hysterical – need to shut up, she thought, but her mouth kept going. “I may skip Isabela; she's got amazing legs, of course, but I’m a little afraid of what she may have picked up by the docks... you know how pirates are...” 

Anders took her hand as she trailed to a stop. “I’m sorry he hurt you, Hawke. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am sorry.”

Hawke only had so much energy for resistance left. She took a shuddering breath and gave in. 

“It’s not that. Or... not just that,” she said. 

She pulled her hand out of his and sat on the end of the cot he used to treat his patients, looking at the floor, the wall, anywhere but at Anders. She could take his anger but not his sympathy. 

“Everyone I touch goes away, one way or another,” she said finally. “They die, or they leave, I can’t...” She swallowed and closed her eyes. Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I can’t lose the rest of you.” 

Anders came closer, but she couldn’t look at him. She let herself fall back onto the cot, raking her hands through her hair and blinking at the ceiling with a half-laugh, half-sob. 

“I think I’m cursed. Maybe _I’m_ the one who should leave Kirkwall to find somewhere I can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Hawke.” The cot moved as he carefully eased his weight down beside her. She turned away from him, rolling up onto her side. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She couldn’t keep it in anymore; the tears she’d been holding back for days forced their way free. 

He said nothing for a while, just stroked her hair gently until she started to breathe regularly again. 

“I think if you left Kirkwall, the city might fall apart.” There was a smile in his voice. “You do more good than you know, Hawke. You certainly have for me,” he added more seriously. 

Maybe it was the healer in him that prompted him to add, “Your mother said she was proud of you at the end. I think your father would have been too.” 

It wasn’t that Hawke believed him. She couldn’t, really. But the words were so nice to hear. She lay there as long as she dared, feeling his fingers in her hair. She couldn’t stay, though; to take too much of the comfort he offered would be a mistake. She might be hungry for the solace of touch, but if she were honest it wasn’t Anders she wanted it from.

She struggled to her feet, feeling his hand fall away from her with a twinge of regret. 

“Thanks,” she said, wiping at her face. “I needed that, I guess.”

“If there’s anything else I can do...” he offered, standing. 

“Thanks, but... no. I should be getting home.” She trudged out, only pausing at the doorway to say goodnight. He stood in the center of the room, watching her go.


	29. Chapter 29

After a long and very restless night, she awoke the next morning to a summons from the viscount. When she went to see him, she learned his son Seamus had gone to the Qunari compound, having decided to convert to the Qun. The viscount asked Hawke to convince him to come back. He was clearly distraught, and Hawke could imagine why. On top of the fact that he was losing his only child and heir, this was likely to be the final push that knocked the precarious balance of power firmly off its edge.

Hawke didn’t see how anything she might do would help, but she agreed to talk to Seamus. Aveline was in the barracks, so Hawke dragged her along to the docks to visit the Qunari compound. Seamus was gone by the time they arrived, supposedly to meet with his father at the Chantry -- but why would the viscount have sent Hawke if he’d already planned to meet his son? 

By the time they had raced back to Hightown, the inevitable had already occurred. They found Seamus' body propped up in a kneeling position before the statue of Andraste in the Chantry; at Hawke’s light touch, it slumped to the floor. Reverend Mother Petrice tried to push the blame onto Hawke, but Grand Cleric Elthina saw through the deception. She declared her intention to hand Petrice over to the courts. The woman didn’t live to stand trial; a Qunarai archer shot her twice – through the head and heart – before she could leave the building. 

Later that night, Hawke met the others at the Hanged Man and told them what had happened. 

“Nobody came out of that looking good,” said Varric. Hawke was inclined to agree. 

“Poor idiot Seamus,” she mused over her ale. “He always had more sincerity than sense. I know he was trying to force a reaction, but how could he not realize they’d try to kill him? What a mess he's left for his poor father to clean up. And it’s not over yet.” She shook her head. 

Suddenly, a gurgle of laughter bubbled out of her. “Mother tried so hard to set us up... At least I never said over his dead body.” 

Varric grimaced. 

“Well, it’s something I might have said!” Hawke insisted with another slightly hysterical giggle.

Varric only shook his head, but Fenris’ lips twitched. 

Hawke looked down into her mug, and her laughter faded into a sigh. “Mother... she used to make me so angry. I never thought I’d miss her nagging.”

Anders reached over and gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Fenris looked the other way, shoulders hunched. Hawke drank her ale for a while in silence.

* * *

As she had expected, the situation soon got worse. Much worse. 

First, Isabela’s missing relic -- the one she’d supposedly never seen and which Hawke had promised to help her find -- turned out to be an ancient Qunari religious tome. The moment they finally located it, both Isabela and book disappeared. Then, Aveline took Hawke to meet with the Arishok about fugitives from city justice who had taken refuge by converting to the Qun. Unfortunately, the Arishok had no interest in discussing her request to hand them over.

“This is all irrelevant,” he said sharply. “I would speak to Hawke about the relic stolen from my grasp.”

“If you give me time, I’ll get it back for you,” she offered, silently hoping it wasn't a lie. 

“It is much too late for that,” was the Arishok’s ominous answer. “I cannot leave without the relic, and I cannot stay and be blind to this city’s dysfunction. There is only one solution.” 

As he turned away, he signaled his men to attack. Aveline and Hawke made it out of the compound; the guards who had accompanied them were not so lucky. As they fled, they realized the attack had not been just a personal one. Qunari soldiers filled the streets. Aveline and Hawke ran down a twisting series of side alleys toward Lowtown. All around there was shrieking and the crackle of fire.

They were trying to take down a Sten and his company when Fenris, Varric, and Anders clattered down the steps to join in the fight. They’d been at the Hanged Man waiting for Hawke when the trouble broke out, and had hurried towards the docks to look for her. 

“I knew we’d find you in the middle of this mess,” said Varric, slapping Hawke on the back and trying not to sound relieved.

“Let me guess,” said Fenris, as he wiped the blood from his sword. “Our friends from Par Vollen decided to take over after all?”

“That’s about the size of it,” agreed Hawke. Funny how much more confident he was in a crisis. Of course, Fenris had firsthand experience with Qunari warfare; it had been the backdrop of his escape, after all. 

“The Arishok has been planning this for who knows how long,” worried Aveline. “We should go to the keep to rally my guardsmen.” 

They fought their way through to Hightown, picking up Knight-Commander Meredith along the way when she saved them from an unexpected Saareabas attack. She greeted Hawke dryly. “I know you. The name Hawke has turned up in my reports many times. Too many.” 

She told them that the Qunari were taking those they'd captured to the keep, and asked Hawke and Aveline to assist with the rescue.

“Of course, Knight-Commander,” said Aveline. 

“Always happy to help in a life-threatening crisis,“ said Hawke. 

She was concerned what the Knight-Commander would make of Anders, but the woman seemed content to focus on the larger issues at hand, for now. Hawke would do her best to see it stayed that way. 

The group moved towards the keep, finding First Enchanter Orsino and some of his mages along the way, her sister among them. Hawke threw her arms around Bethany. 

“It’s good to see you safe,” she whispered into her sister’s shoulder. What else did you say when so much had happened?

Bethany pulled back and gave her a half smile. “The city is under attack. We’re all in danger,” she pointed out. 

“So it's pretty much a normal day for the Hawke sisters, right?” Hawke said brightly.

They were interrupted as Orsino and Meredith began to argue over who should lead the charge. Hawke listened for a moment and realized the situation was rapidly getting out of control. She stepped forward. 

“I won’t have you two at each other’s throats. I’m taking charge,” she said.

“Why am I not surprised?” muttered her sister.


	30. Chapter 30

They fought their way through the Qunari guard into the palace with Meredith and Orsino’s help, then Hawke and her friends went ahead while Meredith doubled back to collect her templars. Inside, they pushed back waves of qunari guards. Finally they reached the throne room. All was in chaos. Frightened nobles were shouting and crying, and the head of the viscount lay in the middle of the floor. 

“We’re too late,” said Hawke, exchanging a worried look with Aveline. 

As though he could hear her through the discord, the Arishok turned. He stood before the throne, regarding her with his stoic gaze. 

“Shenadan, Hawke. I expected you,” he said. The noise in the room quieted at the sound of his voice. “But for all your might you are no different from these bas. You do not see.”

“I see a man who’s ready to start a war on principle,” she said tightly.

“And what would the Qunari be without principle? You, I suspect,” he said. It was almost a sneer. “Prove yourself basra, or kneel with your brethren.” 

He signaled; five members of his honor guard attacked Hawke and her companions. Hawke snorted in disbelief. They had fought rock wraiths, demons, and dragons, not to mention countless Qunari soldiers on their way to the palace. Five guards were supposed to stop them? 

“Parshera!” said the Arishok after they had quickly dispatched his fighters. “You are Basalit-an after all. Few in this city command such respect.” He stepped down the stairs towards her, joining them on the lower level. 

“So tell me Hawke,” he continued, “you know I cannot withdraw. How would you resolve this conflict?”

“Isabela stole the Tome of Koslan. We will find her and return it,” she said.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “It is too late for that. You will answer for the crimes of those who serve you. Their offense is yours.”

From just behind Hawke’s right shoulder came a string of Qunari she didn’t understand. Fenris continued in the common tongue. “You have granted this woman Basalit-an. By this admission she now has the right to challenge you.”

She glanced back at Fenris, eyebrows raised. 

The Arishok’s lip curled slightly. “If you truly knew the Qun, elf, you would not suggest I battle a female.”

Fenris’ expression was serious, but Hawke could hear the smile in his voice. “But she is no female -- she is a respected outsider, by your own words.”

The Arishok considered this for a moment. “What say you, Hawke? Do you agree to a duel?”

She looked back to Fenris. He gave her a slight nod. 

“What are the rules of this duel?” she asked the Arishok.

“Kill me, and the duty that binds me is ended. The others will return to Par Vollen,” he answered.

“And if you kill me?” 

“Then you are dead,” he said simply.

This duel wouldn’t make the situation worse, then -- that was to say, it would be worse for Hawke if she lost, but not for the city at large -- and it would buy Meredith more time to gather her men and stage a proper defense. Put that way, the choice was easy. “Alright,” she agreed. “Let’s dance.”

“Maveras! So shall it be,” answered the Arishok. 

He gave a sign to his guard to clear the area and unsheathed his weapons. 

Hawke watched the nobles flee up the steps out of the corner of her eye, but kept her focus on the Arishok. She stepped back to the center of the floor to give them room for the fight, Fenris keeping pace to murmur in her ear. 

“His stroke will be very powerful, too much for you to block. Keep him moving. He will be fast for his size, but not as quick as you, and his blades are heavy. Wear him down before making your move.” And then he too was gone, joining her companions on the upper balcony. 

The Arishok was huge. Hawke had always thought him impressive, but he was far more so this close, towering over her, an enormous sword in his left hand and an axe in his right. She wondered briefly if she’d be even able to lift either of his weapons. 

With a flourish, the Arishok charged, and the time for thought was over. She held her ground as long as she dared, then sprang away to the side, retreating a few steps and waiting to see how he would react. 

She spent the next several minutes dodging and weaving, making him chase her, getting in only a few glancing blows to his flanks as she passed. Carver had called this technique -- what was it? Kiting? -- and said it was dishonorable. She didn’t give a bronto’s behind for honor at the moment. She cared about saving the people of the city, first and foremost. She had indirectly caused this mess by protecting Isabela; the Arishok was right that Hawke had a share in the responsibility. Second, she cared about avoiding the Arishok’s very nasty-looking blades. A rapidly growing third concern was her increasing desire to kick Fenris, repeatedly, until he could explain what made him propose this ridiculous duel. She was a rogue – fast perhaps, but in no way a physical match for single combat with such a powerful warrior. 

She hadn’t moved quickly enough that time, and ended up with a gash on her arm from a glancing blow of the Arishok’s axe. If the full weight of the blow had landed, she suspected her arm would be completely useless. As it was, she didn’t really feel the pain of it, not yet, but she worried about how much it was going to bleed. She needed to stop thinking about Fenris and focus on the Qunari in front of her. Time to let her body take over -- to focus and react, not think. 

Feint and dodge, charge and swing. She used the pillars as much as she dared, drawing his charge nearby, then ducking back behind the stone. He had slowed, but only a little. The Arishok was too seasoned not to realize what she was trying to do; his goal was to be as economical of movement as possible, hers to drive him towards larger more tiring moves. The only way to do it was to tempt him with openings and hope she could continue to be fast enough to close them in time. 

The fight went on for what felt like days. Eventually one of them had to miscalculate; that was the nature of the dance. It was bad luck that it turned out to be Hawke. She’d used the same evasive move one too many times, and instead of striking on the left to catch the opening she’d left him, the Arishok swung to the right at the last second. With a scooping motion of his sword, he caught her in the abdomen as she tried to whirl away from him. The blade tore all the way through her, and the impetus of his swing lifted her clean off the ground. 

Blood was everywhere. She was dimly aware of screams in the distance. She had lost. And because of her failure, the nobles of Hightown would die with her, as would her friends.

But she hadn’t come this far to fail now. She was a dead woman, true; but maybe she wasn’t finished quite yet... She dropped her left dagger and reached forward to scrabble at the Arishok’s chest. She got her fingers around one of his armor straps and pulled. The blade burned like fire in her innards as she slid farther toward the hilt, but it brought her into range. With everything she had left, she swung her right dagger around to bury it under the Arishok’s jaw and shoved the handle back towards his ear, severing the arteries there.

* * *

Voices. Movement. Cold. So cold. 

Anders was murmuring in her ear. She eventually separated the sounds into words. “Stay with us Hawke. We have to move you. Just hang on, okay?”

She tried to speak, but nothing came out. 

“She does hear us,” he said to someone above her, relief in his voice. “Shh, it’s all right, you don’t have to talk,” he told her. 

Hawke shook her head slightly. “Tell... Fenris,” she croaked. “Will... kick his ass.”

She felt the elf’s laugh more than heard it. Arms shifted around her. 

“That had better be a promise,” Fenris told her as he carried her out of the palace.


	31. Chapter 31

The light seemed unnaturally bright, even through closed eyelids. She tried to roll away from it and abruptly woke completely with a grunt as the twisting motion sent a stabbing pain through her gut. Hands gently eased her flat again. She pried her eyes open to see Anders, looking even more grey and rumpled than usual, but with a faint smile on his face. 

“Not quite yet, Hawke. Stay put for a while longer.”

“How bad?” Her voice was rough and cracked, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

He fussed over something at the bedside table. “Far better than it was. I think I’ve mostly managed to put everything back where it belongs. But you need to stay still and let it heal for a while. Here, drink this and go back to sleep.” 

He helped her lift her head, and tipped something cool down her throat. A wave of numbness washed over her. 

“We should tell the others,” she dimly heard him say. She had just enough strength to turn her head, but couldn’t focus to see who it was he’d spoken to before her eyes slid shut.

* * *

The next time she opened them, it was dark. She took an experimental breath, and let it out slowly. She ached everywhere, and anything more than a shallow breath made everything feel painfully squeezed. Bandages? She moved a hand to touch her side. Under her linen shirt, yes, some sort of tight binding from just under her breasts to down past her hips. Maybe she shouldn’t push it. She gingerly lifted her head to look around the room. Someone was sleeping in a chair next to her, backlit by a single candle. She dropped her head. Holding it up made the ache worse.

She tried to speak, but it came out in a whisper. “Anders?” 

“It’s me,” said Aveline, coming instantly awake. “I sent Anders to bed. He could hardly stand.” The guard pushed herself out of the chair and lit a second candle on the table behind her, giving Hawke a tired smile. “Which didn’t stop him from giving me very thorough instructions. I’m to give you more of this, and tell you to go back to sleep.”

“Won’t have... much choice... ” Hawke croaked. She wouldn’t have much choice if it was the same potion she’d been given before, she’d meant to say. Talking was more tiring than it ought to be when one couldn’t breathe properly. 

“It’s a relief to see you awake,” said Aveline. “I came as soon as I could when Fenris told us.” There was a clink of glass as she stirred something. 

Hawke thought for a moment. “Fenris?”

“He’s sleeping too. The pair of them were up the better part of two days trying to put you back together,” said Aveline. 

Hawke frowned and Aveline smiled at her expression. “Yes, both of them. Never let it be said you can’t work miracles. With the state you were in they didn’t even have time to argue.” 

She moved to help Hawke lift her head, but Hawke frowned harder and pulled back. “What...” she croaked. 

“Come on, Hawke,” Aveline interrupted. “I promised I’d get you to drink this. You can ask them yourself later. I don’t think either of them is leaving the house before they know you’re out of danger.”

“Worse than he said, then,” Hawke mumbled, before giving in and letting Aveline help her drink the potion. 

“It was bad enough,” said Aveline, gently smoothing back Hawke’s hair. “Go back to sleep.”

The numbness washed over her again, and she did.


	32. Chapter 32

Hawke awoke to the sound of voices. She opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly to see Fenris and Anders having a hissed argument at the foot of the bed. 

“Why should it suddenly matter now?” Fenris was asking.

“I don’t need your help anymore, and Hawke deserves her privacy,” Anders snapped in return.

Hawke sighed inwardly. It seemed the mysterious accord her injuries had caused was at an end. She must be healing after all. “Will you two quit?” she rasped.

“Hawke!” Anders flew to her side. “I’m sorry we woke you.” He shot a disapproving glare at Fenris. 

“I am glad to see you’re with us again,” Fenris said, ignoring Anders. He gave her a small smile, then lowered his head. “In that case... I will be down the hall if you have need of me.” 

Once he’d gone, Anders cleared his throat, and said crisply, “I was just wanting to unwrap your bandages and take a look. I’ve checked with magic, but I’d like to make a physical assessment. It’s time to change the dressings as well, which will be a lot easier now that you’re awake.” 

He’d put on his professional healer manners, Hawke noted. As he helped prop her up onto the pillows and folded up her shirt to reveal the bandages, she realized why. Anders been tending her injuries for days, and had probably had to cut her out of her armor to do it. All of which meant... he’d seen her naked. Of course he had; the Arishok had run a sword through her gut. There was no way she’d be tended and bandaged up from a wound like that without nakedness. Awkward between friends; expected with your healer though. Healer manners said “I’m a totally different man than the one with glowing purple eyes who threatened to kiss you a few weeks ago.”

And from what Aveline had said... Fenris had been here too. Hawke was suddenly glad she’d been unconscious.

Anders had produced a small set of silver scissors, and was cutting at the lower edge of the bindings near her hip. She was glad to see someone had thoughtfully provided her with smallclothes, even if the bandage meant they were pushed down quite a bit lower than she’d usually wear them. 

Now she was getting seriously self-conscious. She needed a distraction. 

“So, what’d I miss?” she asked, as casually as it was possible to do while unable to breathe and about to be cut out of her primary source of modesty by a friend she were reasonably sure had a crush on her. A crazy, somewhat scary friend, who was only actually her friend when he wasn’t glowing purple. Which he wasn’t at the moment, thank the Maker.

“Aside from all this?” he asked, continuing to snip away carefully. The air was cool along her exposed skin. 

“You created quite a fuss, you know,” he told her. “Meredith declared you the Champion of Kirkwall.” He glanced up to see her reaction, and she lifted her eyebrows. “Apparently that’s a thing they do here. You should have seen her face when she stormed in at the head of her troops and found you’d done all the fighting for her. I thought she’d swallowed her own tongue.”

He snipped his way to the top of the bandage and cut cleanly through the last wrapping. “Okay, let’s see what we’re looking at here.” 

He gently tucked her shirt beneath her to hold it in place, mindful of her modesty, and carefully peeled back the bandages. 

Hawke risked a quick peek, and swallowed. “I’ve never seen so many different colors of bruise all in one spot,” she said. She inhaled carefully. “Though I have to say, it’s nice to be able to breathe again.”

“Sorry the bandages were so tight, they needed to be to hold everything in the right place,” he said absently as he prodded her stomach. “You cracked some ribs in addition to the stab wound; probably that happened when the Arishok went down. It was quite a sight; impossible at first to tell whose blood was whose. Meredith probably only made you Champion because she figured you wouldn’t survive to benefit.”

He examined a bit farther. “Looks like the incision is healing up well too. I’m afraid I had to cut you open further in order to clean up inside. But it looks like things are finally mending. She’ll have to deal with a Champion after all.” 

He looked pleased as he stood up to fetch ointment and fresh wrappings.

“Sounds like that’s mostly thanks to you,” she said.

“Anything to annoy the Knight-Commander!” he said breezily, dropping the bandages beside her and opening the jar of ointment. Whatever was inside had a minty and medicinal but not entirely unpleasant odor.

“I was happy to be able to put you back together,” he added more seriously, eyes on his work as he spread the greenish paste over the red seam across her belly. “I wasn’t sure it would be possible for a while there. Taking on the Arishok in single combat was foolish in the extreme.” He paused to give her a stern look. “Brave, impressive, and you probably saved the city by doing it, but it was still foolish.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never been known for my common sense,” she pointed out with a wry smile. “I’m lucky you were there to help.”

He eased the remains of the old bandages from behind her back and set them aside. “Do you think you can sit up for a moment, so I can get your back and re-wrap you? I promise it won’t be as tight this time.”

“I’ll give it a try,” she agreed. As he gently eased her forward, she said casually, “I hear Fenris helped?” 

Anders frowned, and concentrated on finding her a comfortable position she could hold before answering. “Lean on my shoulder if you need to, like that, yes. Can you pull your shirt this way? Perfect.” 

Once she was all arranged, he picked up the ointment again and began spreading it over the incision on her back. “Fenris carried you out of the palace. You spoke to us; do you remember that part?”

“Sort of,” she answered breathlessly. Was sitting upright supposed to be this difficult? 

“It’s for the better if it’s hazy. You passed out again on the way down the steps,” he said. “Once we got you here, he refused to get out of the way so I put him to work. The evil mage couldn’t be trusted to heal you unsupervised, I suppose.” 

His lip curled, but he didn’t look up from his work, setting the ointment aside and picking up the roll of bandages. “I admit he was useful. I’m afraid we had to... restrain you a bit while I worked. Your intestines were sliced clean through in places, and it’s not enough to knit the flesh back together. You have to remove any source of infection. It wasn’t easy.” He tied off the last end, eased down her shirt over the top, and helped her lie back onto the pillows. “There. That should do it. And now, you really should try to get some more sleep.”

A short conversation and sitting up for half a minute had wiped her out. She really was a mess. 

“I will. Anders...” she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze, “it’s not nearly enough to say thank you. But thank you.”

“Seeing you well is all the thanks I need,” he replied, squeezing back and then letting go to brush her forehead lightly with warm fingertips. “Now sleep,” he insisted.

“Yes, ser.” Hawke closed her eyes.


	33. Chapter 33

It was quite a few hours later when she awoke. The long slant of golden light coming through the high windows told her it was almost sunset. She thought at first she was alone -- the room was quiet, and the chair next to her bed was empty. But after a moment she heard the soft rustle of a page turning. She struggled to sit up, and Fenris started at the noise. He pushed away from her desk and stood up. 

“Hawke. You’re awake.” 

“I see you’ve retained your brilliant grasp of the obvious,” she grunted, trying to tug her pillows up behind her so she could see him properly. Why was it so blasted difficult to move? And painful too.

He came over to help. “And you’ve regained sarcasm. You must be feeling better.” 

He supported her shoulders with one hand and quickly and neatly piled the pillows into place behind her with the other, then stood back. He hadn’t flinched from touching her, she noticed, but he hadn’t lingered either. 

“I am feeling better,” she said, pausing a moment to catch her breath. She squinted up at him. “You’ll be relieved to know, though, I’m under strict healer’s instructions not to kick anyone for a few more days.” 

“I am relieved indeed,” he said gravely. He rubbed the back of his neck. “We weren’t sure you’d remember what happened.”

“Things are a bit fuzzy,” she said, “but I distinctly remember promising myself to pummel you mercilessly once I was done being skewered.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps if you’d been focusing on what you were doing, you’d have avoided the skewering?”

“Hmph.” She gathered the top of the sheet and yanked it a bit farther up. “Fenris. Why did you do it? Why propose the duel?”

“We needed to buy time,” he said simply. “I was the only one who knew enough of the Qun to suggest the option, and I knew you could win.”

“How could you know that? Fenris, he was huge!”

“Not as huge as the ogre you took down in the Deep Roads,” he pointed out, settling lightly onto the chair beside her bed.

“Ogres don’t understand strategy,” she said acerbically. “And in the Deep Roads I had you lot behind me. Fighting as a team is totally different than dueling. Maybe if I’d asked Isabela to teach me some of her moves...”

Fenris frowned.

“Isabela is a pirate; she acted like a pirate. It's... unfortunate that she lied to us, but I didn’t really expect any different,” Hawke said. “The point is, I still don’t understand how you thought a flimsy little rogue could beat the Arishok.”

“But you did, didn’t you?” he answered. She glared at him, but his expression was serious. “I have never seen you lose. Not once.”

Suddenly angry, she made a frustrated gesture. “Except for the time an ogre beat my brother against a rock. And my sister was taken by the Templars. Oh, and I failed to stop my mother from being murdered...”

“Hawke,” he said, distressed. He captured one of her hands to get her attention. “Hawke stop. That is different. I meant... in battle. I have never seen you lose in a fair fight.”

“Who ever said I was in the habit of fighting fair?” she argued, but allowed herself to be calmed. She was too tired to go down that emotional road. She left her hand in his, though. 

“You almost saw me lose this time.”

“I know,” he said, looking down. “If the mage hadn’t been there...”

“Can you call him Anders, for once? He saved my life. Seriously, as a favor to me -- or if need be, in exchange for the ass kicking I owe you.”

He grimaced. “Fine.” He let go of her hand and rubbed at his neck again, looking at the floor. “I foolishly almost got you killed, and Anders saved you.”

“Maker, why are you so difficult?” she snapped. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. You were right, in the end, and it all worked out. I just... wanted to understand.” 

She fidgeted, crumpling the sheet in her fist then smoothing it out again. “Things have been kind of... You don’t... seem to like me much lately, so I couldn’t understand why you’d have such faith in me.” She continued in a rush. “I mean, it’s not like you’re so civic minded that you were prepared to throw me to the dragons just to save Kirkwall.”

“Hawke, I...” He paused, shifting uncomfortably and still not looking at her. “I don’t... not like you.”

“Well, that’s a start, then,” she said, more confidently than she felt. She should probably keep pushing, but she was tired. This was the best she could do for now. She held out a hand. “Friends?”

“I... yes. Friends.” He shook her hand gingerly, more brushing her fingers than squeezing them. Hawke couldn’t help but think of a few minutes earlier, when he’d grabbed at her hand without thinking. She sighed. She was not up for this.

“Then can I ask you to get me a glass of water?” she asked. “Talking still makes me pretty tired.”

“I will.” He stood up.

Having told him to go, she suddenly found she didn’t want him to leave. “I meant to ask -- what were you reading over there?”

“Oh, ah. I found the fairy tale book. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

“Maybe you can read it to me for a little while?” she asked.

He smiled. “I can.” 

Trying to be close to Fenris was like balancing on the point of a dagger, she thought, as she watched him leave the room in search of water. If she pushed too far in any direction, the blade would slip and slice them both.


	34. Chapter 34

When she was well enough to move around the house, she had them all over for dinner. Bohdan and Oranna prepared a feast and managed all the arrangements. All she had to do was negotiate the stairs under Anders’ watchful gaze and make it to the dining room. A well-padded chair was set at the head of the table for her, and all her friends gathered around. 

Once the hellos had died down and people started to settle into their chairs, Fenris sidled up to her. 

“I raided the cellar for a suitable celebratory beverage,” he said. “This has been aging down there for at least a decade. I’ve no idea what its true value is, but I can promise that Danarius would be horrified to know we were the ones drinking it.” He presented the wine for her inspection with a small smile. 

“I can’t wait,” Hawke told him. 

She waved her hand. “Orana, what’s left of the old Amell crystal is in the locked cabinet, second from the window. Bohdan has the key. I think the slavers left enough glasses for all of us.” She winked at Fenris. “Expensive wine deserves the expensive goblets, so long as you’re not going to drink it right from the bottle.”

“You really shouldn’t be drinking at all, you know,” tisked Anders. “As your healer...” 

“Shut it, Anders.” She smiled and wagged a finger at him. “Your days of bossing me around are numbered. It’s my party, and one glass of wine won’t kill me. I’m not going to miss it.”

A lovely but slightly mismatched set of glasses were soon presented by an anxious-looking Oranna. Fenris poured the wine himself, handing the first glass to Hawke. She held the goblet in her hands, breathing in the delicate scent before taking a small sip. 

She smiled. “It tastes like autumn. Not in Kirkwall -- fall here is all burning trash and nasty harbor smells -- like autumn in Ferelden.”

“Are you saying it tastes like wet dog?” asked Varric.

“If so, I’ll pass,” added Anders wryly.

She laughed. How nice it was to be able to laugh without pain again. “No, it doesn’t taste even a little bit like dog. It would serve you all right if I said it did, though, and kept it for myself.” She took another sip. “I taste leather, dried blackberries, and... road dust, I think. It’s wonderful, Fenris. Thank you.”

* * *

She looked around the table at her friends, laughing in the candlelight. She was tired, but she didn’t want to go upstairs quite yet. 

Varric held court from the foot of the table, regaling them all with some ridiculous tale from his youth, his earrings flashing as he gestured. Merrill was curled up in her chair, knees to her chest, eyes as big as saucers as she drank in his words, no doubt believing every one of them. Between Merrill and Hawke sat Anders, his fingers fussing with the silverware, a tightness around his eyes even when he smiled. He’d declined seconds but scraped his plate meticulously clean; maybe she should ask Bodhan to arrange for food to be brought down to the clinic in the evenings to make sure he was eating properly. She wondered if Justice underestimated the importance of taking care of Anders’ physical needs, or if he was being punished for wasting his time caring for Hawke. 

On her other side, Aveline was whispering something into Donnic’s ear, her red-gold head against his dark one. Hawke was glad -- truly glad -- they’d managed to find a way to each other at last, even if their easy affection made her heart ache just a little. Aveline wore a ring with a modest sparkle; she’d come to see Hawke a few days earlier to tell her she and Donnic were now engaged to be married. 

On Donnic’s other side sat Fenris, silver hair gleaming in the candlelight, smiling openly at Varric’s tale. Hawke had missed the joke, but she smiled all the same to see the elf looking so relaxed. He had come a long way from the porcupine they’d first met, or even from the mess he’d been after Hadriana. Her mind skittered away from thoughts about that time, and she looked down to twine her fingers around the stem of her almost-empty glass. True to her promise, she’d only had the one, and she’d been saving the last sip. When she looked up again, Fenris was looking at her. He raised his glass slightly, and she smiled, copying his gesture before drinking the last of her wine.


	35. Chapter 35

She’d given Anders the key to the cellar entrance. It made it much easier for him to come check on her, and she’d told him to use it if he ever needed a hiding place when the Templars came calling. He was a friend of the Champion, which apparently meant something, but she wasn’t sure if that offered him more protection or less when he was alone in his clinic at night. 

The better Hawke felt, the harder it became to stay in bed. She chafed under Anders’ insistence that she take things slowly. First there were walks, short ones in Hightown to start with, then slightly longer ones, gradually stretching as far as Varric’s quarters in Lowtown. But she kept nagging at him, and after weeks of slow activity, he finally gave in. 

Hawke went to visit Fenris immediately with the news. “I’ve been cleared for sparring practice, thank the Maker. I’ve been going crazy.”

“It will be good for you, I agree,” said Fenris with a small smile. 

“So consider this a formal invitation,” she said. “Tomorrow in the courtyard?”

He looked concerned. “You are just getting back into practice, and you want to start out against a broadsword?”

“Who else would I ask? You have the most control of any of us.”

“Most... control?” He seemed to choke on the word. “Are you sure you’re completely recovered, Hawke? Perhaps there was a head injury that went undetected?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m talking about weapons training, Fenris, what are you talking about?”

The tips of his ears grew slightly pink. 

“You have the most extensive training and the most physical precision of any of us,” she continued. “Let’s face it, we’re pretty much a gang of scrappy fools who make it up as we go along. The only other exception is Aveline, and as someone who has sparred with her before, I can tell you that once her blood is up, she doesn’t care who you are or what injuries you have, she is out to win. If you don’t believe me, ask Donnic. Anders would have to patch me up all over again.”

“And you think he won’t after sparring against me.”

“I trust you to remember who you’re fighting, and to not kill me by accident. I’ll just have to be careful not to offend you, so you don’t decide to kill me on purpose.” She winked at him, and he frowned again. 

More seriously, she added, “I also thought I might ask you to use a longsword to start out with. I know it’s not your preferred weapon, but it will be a lot lighter when you inevitably swat me with it.”

He resisted the idea for a while, but in the end he agreed on the condition that they borrow wooden practice weapons from the guard to use instead of steel. 

Even so, the first time they made the attempt, Hawke went into autopilot. She twisted away from the elf’s attack, and the resulting shooting pain made the edges of her vision blur. She slid to her knees and held a hand up, unable to speak for a moment. Fenris was down next to her in a flash, his hands hovering close to her midsection. 

“I told you this was foolish. Are you alright?” he asked anxiously.

“I will be, I just... oof. Not ready for that kind of twist yet, apparently.” 

She looked up to find his face disconcertingly close. They blinked at each other for a moment; then Fenris rose, rubbed his hand along his thigh to dust it off, and offered it to help her rise. 

“That’s it for today,” he told her. “I should have had you go through forms first.” 

He dropped her hand abruptly the moment she was on her feet, as though it burned him.

Hawke covered her discomfort with a laugh. “You’re assuming I actually know any. I told you, I never trained formally. Carver and I picked up what we could, where we could, and practiced by beating on each other.”

“Then that is where we will start,” he said crisply. “Next time, after you rest. The mage will curse us both if you rip any of your wounds back open.”

She glowered at him.

“Anders, then. Either way, there’s likely to be cursing. Go rest, Hawke.”

She complied, but only with a great deal of grumbling.


	36. Chapter 36

True to his word, when they next met he refused to lift a blade against her at all. He showed her proper positioning, foot movements, and holds, and drilled her on them over and over. When her form wasn’t quite right, he’d physically correct her, pulling her shoulders straight with a gauntleted hand or tapping her foot into a better angle with his own. 

Fenris was a merciless taskmaster. He’d said once that his skill had been beaten into him, and now she could see it. He was running her through positions, faster and faster, even swatting her with the flat of his blade when she got it wrong too many times. She supposed she was should be grateful it was only that; when he was the student he’d probably gotten the whip, or worse. He would demonstrate a pose, then have her assume it, prodding at her until she had reproduced it exactly. Then it was back to a neutral stance, and return on command to the new pose. 

Maker, she was tired. She wondered if she should call for a rest, but she was almost afraid to. Slavers or Lowtown gangs or walking corpses didn't let you rest when you were tired... and Fenris was _fierce_ while he was training. She had a better understanding now of why he’d turned Aveline down when she asked him to drill her guard. 

“You aren’t paying attention,” he snarled. “I said eight.”

Right, position eight. She moved.

Fenris tapped her shoulder. “Too high, drop it down.” 

She took a deep breath and lowered her shoulder. As her weight shifted, her stomach muscles started to shake. She shifted her hips slightly to keep her balance.

“No, now you are out of alignment,” he said, reaching to pull her back. 

She wobbled and lost her balance, and he tightened his grip on her sides. Without intending to, she leaned back into him. His hands stayed clasped firmly to her hips for another heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three. She felt herself flush, and her head dropped slightly. Suddenly he let go, almost pushing her away. 

“What are you playing at?” he spat, and came around to face her. 

She resumed position eight, as best she could. “I’m not playing. I’m tired.”

He studied her a moment, taking in the sweat and the trembling of her muscles, then wiped his hand across his eyes. “So tired you’re shaking. _Vishante_ , Hawke, stand down. Why didn’t you say something?”

She dropped her stance with relief and took a moment to catch her breath.

“I’m going to hurt you all over again. I told you this was a mistake.” His voice sounded angry, but he shifted his weight back and forth like a nervous horse. “I can’t do this, Hawke.”

His abrupt shift from drillmaster to skittish animal made her chest ache. 

“If you can’t, you can’t. I’ll find someone else. It’s fine, don’t worry,” she said, as soothingly as she could. He looked like he wanted to turn tail and flee, but he hadn’t gone yet. That was a first. 

“Okay,” she said slowly. “I am going inside to sit down, possibly for a long time. Take these for me?” 

She handed him the practice daggers, and laid a hand briefly on his shoulder. She thought that she should probably keep him talking, take advantage of the fact that he hadn’t fled, but she was too tired, and she hurt. “We’ll stop with the training. But I expect to see you at the house next week for reading, all right?”

His nod was a bit vague, but she shrugged it off and started across the yard. When she got to the door, he still hadn’t moved. 

“Fenris?” she called, but he didn’t seem to hear her. She called again with no better effect, so she made her painful way back across the courtyard until she was standing almost next to him. 

“Hey Fenris. You okay?” she asked.

He shook himself. “What? I... oh. Sorry.” 

“What happened there?” she asked.

“It was nothing,” he said.

“Nothing.” She folded her arms and waited. Fenris looked at the ground.

A good ten seconds passed before he sighed and looked up through his hair. 

“Just... I’ve been getting flashes of memory more often, lately.” He addressed the air somewhere over her right shoulder. “Particularly when I’m experiencing some sort of... strong feeling. At any rate, it is gone now.” He looked down again to pick an imaginary bit of lint off his gauntlet. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked softly.

“No,” he said abruptly. He ran a hand over his face. “Thank you, but no,” he said again in a calmer tone. “I don’t remember much of it anymore. The memories don’t last.”

“It might help next time to tell someone, or maybe write it down? That might help you remember,” she suggested.

He nodded, somewhat stiffly. “I should go.”

“Don't forget about reading next week,” she called after him. Then she limped her way back to the house.


	37. Chapter 37

Some days later, Hawke was seated at the library desk, sifting through her correspondence. Everyone seemed to want the attention of the new Champion of Kirkwall, and she was still working through the backlog of congratulations and invitations. She was interrupted by Bodhan announcing that she had a visitor. 

“Guardsman Donnic,” she said with surprise when he was ushered in. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Is everything alright?”

“Serah Hawke,” he replied, and nodded. “Everything’s fine. Aveline is fussing over wedding plans, but she’s no more anxious than you’d expect.”

“Which is to say very,” Hawke said with a smile. For all that she was captain of the guard, Aveline was acting surprisingly... girly about her wedding. 

From his faintly amused expression, the husband-to-be concurred. Hawke was glad that once he and Aveline had sorted out their differences, he’d become much more comfortable around the rest of them. That time he’d thought Hawke was hitting on him... that had been awkward. Even so, about the only thing the pair of them had in common was Aveline. 

“But that’s not why I’m here,” he continued. “I’m given to understand you’re looking for a sparring partner.”

“Oh!” she said, surprised. “It’s true, I am. Anders has cleared me for light training, and I’ve had some trouble finding a partner who isn’t...”

“Overzealous?” he suggested. “Fenris said you wouldn't ask Aveline because she’s too competitive.”

“Did he?” she temporized.

“Oh, I won’t tell her. Between you and me, you’re absolutely right. But I’d be willing to give you a few bouts myself, if you’d be interested,” he offered. “It’s the least I can do for the Champion of Kirkwall.”

* * *

The following week, Fenris and Hawke walked home from an evening of cards at the Hanged Man. It was still early, but everyone had fussed at her about not staying out too late. She couldn’t wait to stop being treated like an invalid, though she had to admit these days she could see Varric’s point about the Hightown stairs.

“On nights like this, I kind of miss Isabela,” she said. “I don't mean the way she used to cheat; it’s nice to still have cash at the end of the night. She just... made things a lot more lively. Added something to the banter, you know?”

“Do you mean her repeated requests to play for clothing instead of money?” Fenris asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I would absolutely have gone along with that if I were a better player myself,” said Hawke, smiling wickedly. “I would have loved to watch her trounce the rest of you.”

Fenris only snorted. 

“I wonder where she is now,” she mused. 

He shrugged. They walked in silence for a few moments before he asked, “How is Donnic for a sparring partner?”

“About perfect, actually,” she admitted. “He’s obviously very skilled, but he’s good at keeping things at the right level of intensity. He must be a great teacher for the guard recruits.” 

“Donnic is a good man.”

“I should say thanks for setting it up,” she continued. “Very sneaky of you.” 

Fenris looked quietly pleased. 

“I keep forgetting that people will do things for me now because I’m the Champion,” she said. “It’s a strange feeling.”

“I don’t think Donnic is helping because you’re the Champion,” he said, sounding surprised. “You’ve been a good friend... to Aveline. I’m sure he appreciates that. In fact, I hear you even helped set them up.”

“Oh Maker, never speak of that awkward time. Aveline was impossible!” Hawke laughed. “You’re lucky you missed that whole debacle,” she added, wondering a bit whether he knew when it had happened. It hadn’t been a time she’d been comfortable involving Fenris in anything even remotely to do with romance.

“I told her over and over just to talk to him,” she said, “but noooo, we had to have all that elaborate dancing about. It’s a miracle that it all worked out in the end.” Her voice turned thoughtful. “And now she wants me to give her away at the wedding. How things have changed.” 

“Speaking of change,” Fenris said after a moment, with a small cough. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m going away for a few weeks. I’m not quite sure yet for how long.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, surprised. 

“It’s... just mercenary work,” he answered.

“I see. Well, I suppose that’s a better way to stay in shape than running off to Darktown by yourself like you used to do.” They walked on, drawing nearer to Hawke’s door. “Be careful, will you? I’d like you back in one piece.” That felt too serious, so she gave him a grin. “Not much use as a sword if you’re all cut up into little bits.”

“I will do my best,” he answered gravely.


	38. Chapter 38

“You wouldn’t believe the clothes they wore,” Hawke was telling Merrill. 

They were in Varric’s rooms. Hawke was drinking and Merrill was pretending to, though the elf had been nursing the same cup of ale for at least an hour. Varric was ostensibly looking over his ledger and not listening to Hawke’s tale of the ball in her honor the night before, but she could have sworn he was scribbling notes on a side sheet that didn’t have anything to do with his accounts. 

“Their skirts were so wide some of them had to go through the door sideways. I don’t know how they managed not to knock the glassware off the tables -- practice I guess. And the shoes, Merrill -- tiny tall wobbly things. I can't understand why you'd dress for a dancing party as if the whole point was to fall over. Maybe it’s their way of choosing a mate? The first person who's quick enough to catch them before they hit the floor is destined to be their one true love?” She shrugged and took a long swallow of beer. “I will never understand the noble class. _Or_ Orlesian fashion. And the hair was hilarious -- they wrapped it up on top of their heads with ribbons and flowers and fake birds. I suppose real ones shit too much to be practical,” she finished, fishing for a laugh. 

Varric _was_ listening; he hadn’t been able to suppress that snort.

“Some of them wore feathers on their dresses, too,” she added. “Actually... you know who would have fit in perfectly? Anders!” 

“I can just see it,” Merrill burst in excitedly, still laughing. “Anders making grumpy faces while all the women patted his feathers!”

Hawke gasped for breath. “Yes! You are absolutely right. He would be trying to lecture the noble ladies about the plight of the mages, but they would be too busy cooing, ‘Ooooh Anders, you _must_ tell me where you get your feathers!’” 

The more she thought about where Anders' feathers probably did come from, combined with how cross it would make Justice to be trapped at a fancy dress party, the harder she laughed.

She came to an abrupt stop however, when she registered out of the corner of her eye that Varric had gone suddenly still and was frowning at the door. She turned just in time to see an elf step inside. 

“Fenris!” she exclaimed, and jumped out of her chair. She had a ridiculous impulse to run over and hug him, but curbed it sharply. “You’re back.”

“All in one piece, as promised.” He gave her a crooked smile that went straight to her knees. She wavered for a moment and sat back down.

“I take it your excursion was productive,” said the dwarf. 

She half turned back to Varric. What was wrong with him? He sounded almost grim.

“It was,” the elf replied, unruffled. “What were you all laughing about?” 

He pulled a chair towards Hawke and straddled it, resting his elbows on the chair back in front of him. He was still wearing the ribbon tied around his gauntlet, she noticed. It looked a bit worse for wear after his time away, but it was wrapped and tied with care. When she lifted her eyes, he was watching her, and she flushed slightly.

“Hawke was telling us about the party they had for her in Hightown,” Merrill supplied happily, oblivious to their sudden silence.

Poor Merrill, Hawke thought suddenly. She hadn't considered how lonely the little mage must be since Isabela disappeared. It didn't sound like she had made many friends in the alienage. They really ought to include her more often. 

“You were a most appreciative audience,” Hawke said, giving her a smile before turning back to Fenris.

“It was awful,” she told him, “but Aveline told me not to be an ungrateful twit, and that people would keep trying to throw parties for me until I sucked it up and went to one. I was tempted to behave badly to discourage further invitations, but she talked me out of that too.” She shook her head sadly. “Of course, that means this morning I was swamped with new invites. The work of a Champion is never done, apparently.”

She drained her mug and set it back on the table with a thump. “So far the only bright spot in this whole ordeal has been Merrill’s suggestion that if I'd brought Anders with me, the society ladies would have given him the respect for his feathered pauldrons that he secretly craves.”

“Hmph,” said Fenris. 

She grinned and leaned back into her chair. “There was one thing that both you and Varric will find interesting, though.”

“What’s that?” asked the dwarf. 

“I was approached by a Antivan noble -- Nuncio Caldera Lanos, he said his name was.”

“That’s quite a handle,” Varric said.

“Isn’t it? He said it was mostly to impress the ladies. And to be fair, he seemed to be doing pretty well in that department. Probably it’s the accent, though he did have really pretty eyes.” 

Fenris coughed. She grinned again.

“Anyway, he said he was in Kirkwall trying to track down some assassin from his homeland, but that the fellow had gone to ground with the Dalish and his men couldn’t get close. He said he’d heard the Champion was on speaking terms with the Keeper, and asked if we’d be willing to dig up this assassin for him.”

“And you said yes,” guessed Varric. 

“Of course I did.”

“Hawke, do you really think you’re ready for this sort of thing?” asked Fenris.

“If I stay here in town, I have to go to more parties, which I can promise you would be harder on my health than fighting. Besides, I’ve been training with Donnic practically every day while you’ve been gone. Which, I would like to point out,” she added, poking his chest plate with her finger, hard, “was ages longer than you told me it would be.”

“It was a guess; I didn’t realize how long things would take.”

“You said a few weeks. Try _months_. Your powers of estimation could use some serious work.” She poked him again for emphasis. “You’re lucky Varric talked me out of putting together a search party.” 

Fenris looked startled, and lifted his eyes to the dwarf. 

“You’re welcome,” said Varric, crossing his arms. 

“And you missed the wedding. Aveline is going to _kill_ you.” Hawke smirked. “I can’t wait to tell her you’re back. Anyway,” she said, “not only have I been sparring, but I’ve been going out on patrol with Donnic for weeks now. I think I’m plenty ready for a jaunt out to Sundermount to talk to the Keeper, and maybe a hunt for one lone assassin.”

Fenris sighed. “I almost forgot what it was like, being around you. How is it you get into these situations so often?” 

“What do you mean?”

He ticked examples off on his fingers. “Approached by strangers, attacked by abominations, stumbling upon ancient monsters... general madness.” 

She grinned. “It’s a gift.”

“Well I think you should return it,” he said with a smile.


	39. Chapter 39

It turned out the assassin wasn’t hiding; at least, he’d told the clan to inform anyone who asked which cave he was in. Odd that Nuncio hadn’t known that, she thought. Of course, he was a stranger to the Dalish, so they might have run him off without giving him a chance to ask the question. 

However, the fact that the assassin told people where he was didn’t mean he was planning to go quietly, judging by the number of traps he had set inside. Fortunately, Varric had a knack for finding them -- usually a few seconds before someone actually stepped on them. It made for slow going, but it did give them a trail to follow deep into the caves. 

When they blundered into the varterral, it was a bit of a shock. Merrill quickly explained that as long as the beast had something to guard, it would revive to continue its duty. It was clever of the assassin to know that and use it as a watchdog, Hawke thought, impressed. Unless the Dalish had suggested it to him?Unfortunately for the assassin, Hawke and her friends had killed the varterral once before. Today, they did it again. 

Moments after the beast ceased twitching, a blonde elf stepped out of the shadows. His facial tattoos didn’t look like any Dalish pattern Hawke had ever seen; from the interested look on Merrill’s face, they weren’t familiar to her either. 

“Now you I wasn’t expecting,” he said, sounding oddly pleased. “How do you do? My name is Zevran Aranai, adventurer and occasional assassin.”

“I’ve heard about you,” said Anders with surprise. “You helped the Hero of Ferelden stop the Blight.” 

“At your service, my friend,” said Zevran, bowing slightly. He then turned back to Hawke. “I must admit, I was waiting for an assault by the Crows, not the mighty Champion of Kirkwall.”

“How do you know I’m the Champion?” she asked suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Slayer of Qunari, Deep Roads explorer, and a beauty to make the gods jealous? You underestimate your fame.”

She’d heard a load of such obvious flattery in Kirkwall, much to her annoyance, though none of it had been delivered in quite Zevran’s flamboyant style. She wondered briefly how an elf hiding in a cave might know so much about her, but shrugged it off to worry about later. 

“When you say ‘assault by the Crows,’ I assume you’re not talking about birds,” she said.

“Do not tell me you know nothing of the Antivan Crows! We are the finest guild of assassins, an object of fear throughout the lands for any man with wealthy enemies. Or I should say, they are,” he corrected himself. “I am no longer a Crow, a fact they find unacceptable.”

She raised an eyebrow. “There must be more to it than you leaving the guild.”

“That is offense enough to the Crows, believe me,” he assured her. “Though I may have also killed the last four assassins they sent after me. And, ah, all their men. Oh, and the Guildmaster. In fact, if you were a Crow, you might make a fortune bringing me in! You should consider a career change!” He laughed.

Hawke shook her head, unable to keep from smiling. “You are not at all what I expected.”

“Ahhh, let me guess,” Zevran’s amusement faded. “A man named Nuncio has asked you to capture a dangerous killer, yes? What did he say this time? That I killed his wife? Butchered his parents? Sold his children into slavery? Or did he tell you he was a noble from Antiva, charged with capturing a ridiculously handsome fugitive?”

She paused a second to look him over before replying. “He didn’t mention how handsome.”

“Ahh, so you’ve noticed.” Zevran let his eyes linger on her for a moment, as though appreciating her own physical charms, but behind his eyes she saw the gears turning. She’d chosen to answer his question; he was deciding what that might mean. 

“Bring me to Nuncio if you wish,” he continued, “but I warn you, he surely intends to kill you. The Crows do not like loose ends, unlike myself.” 

He seemed to reach some conclusion, and grinned at her. “But you are a woman who can clearly handle herself, yes? Why worry? So. You can either tie me up, gag me, and then manhandle me... or you can take me to Nuncio. Which will it be, I wonder?”

Manhandle, was it? There was no doubt that a few years ago, she’d have jumped at the chance. Now, though, she contented herself with a small chuckle. “You’re very compliant for a fugitive,” she pointed out.

“Compliant, yes,” he agreed, “and very bendy.” He leered at her again for good measure, then lifted one shoulder in a graceful shrug. “But truthfully, I know when I am outmatched. I would rather take my chances against the Crows.”

Her decision was already made, she knew. She suspected that Zevran knew it too. “I’m not going to hand you over to someone who lied to me,” she told him. 

He nodded his thanks, and replied with every evidence of sincerity. “As a suggestion, you might wish to deal with Nuncio. If you don’t, he will only come after you.” He gave her a courtly bow. ‘It’s been more than a pleasure, my dear Champion. Fare you well.”

“Huh,” said Anders as they watched him go. Zevran moved like a hunting cat. Hawke found herself wishing he could have spared some time to train with her; he’d eased into the shadows and disappeared faster than she’d have thought possible. She’d been looking right at him, and she still wasn’t quite sure how he’d accomplished it.

Fenris made an impatient noise. “Just like that, you’re going to let him go?”

“So it seems,” she answered, still looking into the shadows. 

“And we’re going to do his dirty work for him as well, I take it?” His voice held the barest hint of a growl.

She turned back to her companions. “Probably. I do hate being lied to. Besides, Zevran was a Blight Companion. I’ve no idea who Nuncio is.” She gave them all a feral grin. “I think we should find out, don’t you?”

* * *

They didn’t waste time, but made their way toward Nuncio’s campsite. It was a longer ways out of town than Hawke had expected. As they trekked through the sand dunes of the Wounded Coast, she was glad she’d brought Merrill to talk to; she found herself with an unexpected amount of nervous energy. It was good to be out on the road again; patrols with Donnic had been good exercise, but Maker it had been boring marching up and down the same set of streets every day.

She’d decided on the direct approach, so they walked openly towards Nuncio’s camp. The man himself came forward to greet them. He looked different by the light of day and in fighting clothes, and Hawke realized ruefully that he really didn’t carry himself like a noble at all. She’d been so happy to talk to someone about something other than clothes and parties and who was sleeping with whom that she just assumed he was different because he was Antivan. Stupid, really.

Nuncio greeted her cautiously, with an eye on the friends she brought with her.

“You didn’t tell me the assassin you wanted captured was one of your own,” she observed without preamble.

“Uh, so Zevran told you, did he,” Nuncio floundered for a only moment. “It really doesn’t matter. I am thoroughly disappointed.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “No one fails the Crows and lives.”

Hawke noted that there were quite a few men lurking in the shadows of the tents behind him.

Zevran chose this moment to make another of his surprise appearances out of nowhere. “Ahh, poor stupid Nuncio,” he said, with a slow shake of his head. “The Crows do like that saying, but I’m living proof it’s a lie.” 

He turned to Hawke. “Why they insist on thinking they can kill people like you and the Warden, I will never guess.”

“Let me tell you, it’s a burden I bear on a daily basis,” she answered, unable to keep an answering grin from her own face.

Nuncio was not interested in their chat. “You’re nothing but a traitor and a coward, Zevran. You’ll die here!”

Zevran made a deceptively casual turn, and flicked a knife neatly into the eye of an assassin running up behind him. “Yes, well,” he said with a predatory smile that made Hawke’s blood thrill. “Let’s see how that works out for you.”

She always did like beautiful and dangerous. She drew her daggers.

* * *

“Excellent,” breathed Zevran, making a last circle to determine all the assassins were accounted for, and then shaking himself free of the battle with a sigh. “Killing my former brothers-in-arms is oddly satisfying.” He used the shirt of the nearest of them to wipe his daggers clean before settling them back into their sheaths.

“I’ve little reward to offer you, Champion,” he continued, “but perhaps this will serve as a token of my thanks.” He pushed up his sleeve, unbuckled a throwing knife from where it had been strapped to his forearm, and handed it to her. The leather sheath was still warm from his skin. 

Hawke took a moment to admire the design upon the silver hilt: a stylized charging mabari worked in gold wire. She drew the knife, and gave it an experimental flip to test the weight. 

“Someone's been picking the pockets of Ferelden nobles,” she said, as she slid it back into the sheath and began rolling up her sleeve.

“Something so beautiful deserves to be used, does it not?” he said, his eyes dancing as he stepped forward to help her buckle it to her forearm. “It would be a shame to leave it locked away and forgotten.” 

He adjusted the fastenings to fit her in a series of quick, neat gestures. Once all was fastened, his fingers lingered on her skin for a moment. He lifted her eyes to her face, and Hawke realized she wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten so far into her personal space. She could feel the light puff of his breath on her neck, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. 

“It is time for me to move on,” he said, giving her an appraising look. “Unless you’d... care to get to know each other better, Champion?”

Before she could find any words, Fenris stepped forward, scowling. “That depends,” he said. “How much do you wish to test that luck of yours?”

Hawke choked.

“Oh, I see.” A small smile played over Zevran’s lips. “Fair enough, then!” he continued, stepping back. Hawke took a deep breath. 

“It is time to move on, as they say,” Zevran continued cheerfully. “I’ve a little war to wage back home, and so little time. Perhaps we’ll meet again, Champion.” He bowed to her, and nodded to Fenris, before heading into Nuncio’s camp, no doubt to help himself to their supplies.

“We should move on,” said Fenris, a bit of scowl still lurking at the corners of his expression. 

“I agree,” Hawke answered, and smiled at him.


	40. Chapter 40

And so the seasons passed. Hawke and her little company of adventurers resumed taking on odd jobs around Kirkwall, helping the workers at the Bone Pit, exploring the Wounded Coast in search of slaver caravans, and fighting with the Carta in the undercity. A surprising number of these jobs seemed to take them out of town just when big social events were clamoring for Hawke’s attention. Not even the nobles could argue when she used the excuse, "I have a duty to the citizens of Kirkwall," and she took merciless advantage of this fact.

She hadn't been able to back out of the unveiling of the Champion statue out by the docks, though. That had been... interesting. The enormous stone figure was clearly labeled as the Champion of Kirkwall, but it looked more like a heavily armored Templar than the slight female rogue who had slain the Arishok using only speed and two small daggers. Her friends had bristled on her behalf, but Hawke laughed it off. Meredith had overseen the commissioning of the statue, after all -- its appearance was not really so surprising.

"Everyone I care about knows what really happened," Hawke said. "I’m glad of it, really. Just think -- if the statue actually looked like me, I wouldn't be able to walk down the street without people asking me to rescue their nephews or find their long lost cousins or get their cats down out of trees. We'd never have time for drinking. Trust me, it's better this way."

Her mother would have been disappointed, but her mother was gone. She hadn't spoken to her uncle Gamlen in months, and she was sure the only reason he’d care is if it reduced his ability to capitalize on her fame. Bethany was locked up in the Gallows, and would probably never see the statue anyway. With all the power struggle going on in the wake of the viscount's death, Hawke would have been shocked if Meredith didn't try to take advantage; the woman was desperate for the city to forget that is was Hawke and not the Knight Commander who had resolved the Qunari conflict. Honestly, she could have the glory, and be welcome to it, if it would calm her down. Hawke was going to pick her battles carefully; a matter of vanity was hardly worth causing an upset. She wondered when she had gotten so practical and political, and rubbed her face with a sigh.

“Speaking of drinking,” she added, “Time for the Hanged Man, I think.”

There was a general murmur of assent, and they all trooped up the steps and out of the Docks together. Anders, who had been present but silent for most of the day, suddenly stepped up beside her just before they reached the door.

"I need to talk to you," he said. "Come and see me in my clinic tomorrow?" His manner was withdrawn, perfunctory, but it often was these days. They'd been close for a while, when he’d been her healer. Now that she was well and had taken up her old lifestyle, he’d faded back into the background. He came out of his clinic only if she went to fetch him; otherwise he spent all his time obsessively writing his manifesto over and over, fixated on the wrongs done to mages. She missed having him as a friend. And she worried.

“You’re not coming in?” she asked.

He looked away, down the road that would take him back to Darktown. “Too much to do.” His eyes flicked back to Hawke.

“You’ll come?”

“I’ll come.”

* * *

When she went to the clinic the following afternoon, Anders was alone. There weren't nearly as many refugees in Darktown as there used to be. Rumor was that King Alistair was planning to send ships to bring home those that were left, but she wasn't sure he'd be able to fill them. Not so long ago, she might have been excited to get on one of them herself. Now, she was the Champion of Kirkwall, with friends and family and obligations here in the Free Marches. Who knew if she'd ever see Ferelden again?

Anders was scribbling frantically at his desk, his hair askew and a streak of ink on his cheek. He didn't look up as she entered.

"Hello, the clinic," she called out from the doorway. He made no answer, and kept writing. " _Anders_." She got no response until she was almost at his elbow. "Anders."

He jumped. "Hawke!" He scrambled out of his chair. "You startled me."

She shook her head. "How long have you been sitting at that desk?" she asked. "Have you even eaten today?"

"I think so... I don't really remember," he said, running a hand over his hair where it had fallen out of its usual tail.

She shook her head, then licked her thumb and wiped at his cheek.

"What are you... oh," he said, as her hand came away streaked with black. He groped at his desk for a rag and handed it to her for her hands.

After wiping her thumb, she hunted for the cleanest corner and used it to continue rubbing at his cheek. "I wish you'd take better care of yourself."

"It doesn't matter," he answered stiffly, pulling his head away from her touch.

"Of course it matters," she said reaching towards his cheek again, but he stepped farther back. She lowered her hand.

"Speaking of care..." he closed his eyes like he already regretted what he was about to say, but was going to do it anyway. "I know it isn't my place to criticize, but... are you sure about spending so much time with Fenris? He seems less a man to me than a wild dog."

"You're right, it isn't your place," she replied, tossing the rag back onto his desk. "I’m sure that Fenris is my friend. That's all there is to it," she said firmly.

"It isn't. He broke your heart before; are you going to let him do it again?"

She raked her hand through her hair. "I don't know. I don't think it will come to that. I also think it's none of your business. 

Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

"No," he said, turning and walking a few steps away from her. "I'm going to be trying something, and I thought you'd want to be part of it." He turned. "You've been right all along. What I did with Justice was unnatural. It should never have happened." His eyes and voice were flat, almost expressionless.

"What does that mean?" she asked, slightly suspicious.

"I've spent the past couple of years researching the methods of Tevinter magisters," he explained. "They're the only ones who have ever sought to reverse spirit possession, not just behead the victims. I believe I have the formula for a potion that can separate Justice and me. Without killing either."

"Is it dangerous?" she asked.

"There are always dangers with magic," he said, shrugging slightly. "But I believe this will be worth the cost."  


"That was going to be my next question."

"I knew you'd stand behind me in this. Even if..." he faltered.

"What?"

"Nothing," he finished quickly. "I've gathered most of what I need, but there are some... outlandish ingredients I was hoping you'd help me collect."

"Is it just a potion? Is there anything more to this ritual?" She was looking for what had made him hesitate. Something was not quite right. His manner was too casual, too... neutral. He had to be hiding something.

"No, no ritual. Just mix the ingredients up and… boom. Justice and I are free. And we can take our rightful place among free mages." He smiled slightly.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked impatiently.

"Oh many things, I'm sure," he said, with a hint of his old cheerful manner. "Did I tell you about the dream I had where the Grand Cleric was completely naked except for her miter? And there was this giant glowing cheese wheel..."

She knew in her heart that he was only putting her off, but she laughed anyway. It was nice to see him smile.


	41. Chapter 41

The note Bodahn handed her when she entered the house was on nondescript white paper, unsealed. "Hawke," it read, in writing that somehow managed to look both careful and cramped. "I need to speak with you. Please come when you can." It was signed only "F."

Hawke smiled, as she always did when she got a rare written message from the elf. She tapped the note against her lips, thinking.

"Bodahn," she called out, "never mind about that tea. I'm heading back out again."

When she reached Fenris’ house, she tapped on the door. Then on a whim, she tried simply opening it and found it unlocked. Voices were coming from the upstairs study. She headed towards them.

"Are you certain it's her?" Fenris was asking.

Aveline's voice was weary, as though this was not the first time she'd answered the question. "An elf matching your description, on the ship you named. That's all I know."

There was a thump, as if someone had struck the furniture. "I need to know if it's a trap!" the elf was snarling as Hawke walked in the door.

"I've done the best I can," said Aveline, in a voice that revealed a struggle to contain her own temper, and turned to go. "You talk to him, Hawke," she said as she swept out the door. "I've had my fill for today."

" _Venhedis!_ " swore Fenris.

Hawke lounged casually in the doorway, admiring his temper and the fact that it wasn't aimed in her direction. She gave him a moment to realize she was there, but when he didn't turn around, she observed dryly, "Maybe it's just me, but I'd swear you're upset."

Fenris looked around, too focused on whatever was upsetting him to be annoyed that she'd been watching. "It's my sister," he said, and threw himself into a chair.

"What?" Hawke dropped the nonchalant act and hastened to join him.

He sighed and looked at his hands. "I didn't tell you, but I followed up on Hadriana's information. That's where I went when I was travelling last year. I had to keep it quiet, but I eventually contacted Varania and sent her coin enough to come meet me. And now she's here."

"She was in Quarinus after all?" she asked, perching on the other chair.

"She left Magister Ahriman's service, but according to the men I paid, it's just as Hadriana said. My sister is not a slave. She's a tailor, in fact." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Getting a letter to her was difficult, and she didn't believe me at first..." He met Hawke's eyes for the first time. "But she's finally come."

It was all taking her a moment to process. "You're upset... because everything's gone exactly to plan?"

Resentment started to bubble up in her. He had to have been working on this for ages. He'd used the information from Hadriana, created a plan to bring his sister here, put it into motion - it had almost come to fruition, in fact - and she'd known nothing about it. She stood up and paced to the other side of the room, fighting her temper. She couldn't quite keep her sarcasm under wraps, though. 

"Of course, I agree. Things are going great - what could possibly be worse?"

He sighed, not quite sensing her mood. "Yes, yes, laugh at me." He stood as well, and came over to her. He regarded her seriously, and took a deep breath. "Come with me Hawke. I need you there when I meet her."

Nope, she wasn't going to be able to let it pass. "I can't believe Aveline knew, and I didn't," she said.

His brows rose, then he frowned slightly. "I didn't want to tell anyone. Not until I knew for certain. But once Varania said she was coming, I needed help. Donnic said he and Aveline could have the guard keep an eye on the ships, let me know if they saw anything suspicious."

"So Donnic knew too."

Fenris turned away, brushing imaginary dust off his arm. "I'm fairly certain Varric knows as well," he admitted. "I didn't tell him, but he was there, when Hadriana..." He shrugged. "I needed to find contacts who were free to move about in Tevinter, so I asked if he knew of anyone. He looked suspicious but didn't ask for details."

"I see," she said blankly.

He turned at her tone, his expression troubled. "I'm sorry, Hawke. I needed to do this on my own."  
"On your own, yes," she replied acidly. "With Donnic. And Aveline. And Varric. But otherwise _completely_ on your own."

Fenris exhaled sharply and turned to the window. He rested his hands on the sill, looking out over Hightown.

Hawke swallowed. She took a few deep breaths and forced herself to unclench her fists. _There's nothing to be that angry about_ , she told herself. _It just hurts that he deliberately excluded you_.

It did hurt. Enough that she was finding it hard to remain calm, while he just stood there, staring off into space. She should go, while she could still do it politely instead of with thrown chairs and slammed doors. She'd made up her mind to do it - she really had - when he finally spoke.

"You and I are so..." he started, then stopped. His head dropped, and he paused for another moment. Finally, he turned to face her and started again. "My freedom has been largely dependent on you since the moment we met. I needed to do this without your help, to prove that I could."

"I see," she said again. She didn't. But she needed to put an end to this. She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "Where is she?"

"If we go to the Hanged Man during the day, Varania will be there. It would mean a lot to me. That's all I ask."

Fenris was a friend, she reminded herself. Apparently not as close a friend as she'd thought, but still a friend. She'd do this for Merrill, for Varric - heck, she'd probably do it for just about anyone under the 'Champion of Kirkwall' clause. Helping people was pretty much her job at this point. And if nothing else, she owed him for all the times he'd helped her do that job - for no reason except that she'd asked him to.

"All right," she said. "I'll go with you. But, uh, not right now, okay? I have some things... to sort out. Tomorrow. I'll come by in the morning."

"Tomorrow," he echoed, looking at her sadly.

She gave him a grimace, which was as close as she could approximate to a smile, and let herself out.


	42. Chapter 42

By the time Hawke got home, the urge to throw things had subsided, leaving a slight nausea in its wake. What she wanted, more than anything, was to go get drunk with Varric. But of course, she couldn't go to the Hanged Man; Varania was there. She considered going to visit Aveline, but the Guard Captain would either be working or busily involved in domestic bliss with Donnic, and she didn't think she could deal with the latter without being rude. Neither of them deserved her rudeness; it wasn't their fault Fenris confided in them instead of her.

She threw herself into her desk chair and scowled at the wall for a while. When that didn't provide her with any answers, she sighed and picked at the pile of correspondence in front of her. If she was going to sit here, she might as well deal with all these invitations.

She was still in the library staring into the fire when Varric turned up two hours later.

"I see he finally told you," he said without any preamble.

"Wha- how do you...?" she started. Then she sighed and shook her head. "Hello to you too, smartass."

The dwarf chuckled and leaned on the side of the hearth. "Somehow people always think I'm joking about my spy army of elven urchins." Hawke rolled her eyes. "If Fenris is going to use my contacts," he continued more seriously, "he should realize I'm going to get notified whenever he does. Varania's arrived."

She looked back into the fire and nodded.

"And as I expected, you're not taking it well."

"He lied to me," she said. "After everything we've been through, all the support... He went off to find his sister and told me he was doing 'mercenary work'. He's been back for months and this is the first I'd heard of it."

Varric cleared his throat, and began to declaim in his best storyteller voice. "Once upon a time - or at least several years ago - a little bird came to see me, all upset because her favorite elf couldn't return her feelings. And this little bird and I had a long talk about the balance of power." He dropped back to his normal voice. "Stop me if you've heard this one before."

"Varric, I'm not in the mood," she grumbled.

"You're also not thinking," he shot back. "What did he tell you? That he needed to do this alone? And then you got upset because by 'alone' he really meant 'without Hawke,' and you don't like to be excluded." He snorted. "You always have to get involved in everybody else's business."

"You're one to talk," she retorted. "But…how did you know all this?"

"I'm very clever," he said."Do you think you're the only one who wanted to help? He told me the same thing. So I gave him some names, then butted out and let him do things his own way."

Hawked rubbed her forehead. The pulsing at her temple was starting to turn into a headache.

The dwarf shook his head. "You can't be angry because he doesn't know how to be independent _and_ be angry when he finally learns."

"Can't I?" she asked, continuing to massage her temples.

"Not if you want to be consistent, you can't," he answered firmly.

Hawke snorted.

"I've noticed something else you haven't, by the way," Varric added.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

"I should make you figure it out for yourself." He held a hand up to prevent her outburst. "But I won't, because I'm tired of watching you two mess this up. Fenris has been spending an awful lot of time around Donnic lately. I think they even have a weekly Diamondback game. Now what is it that those two might have in common?"

Hawke gave an impatient shrug. "They both like swords?"

"Very funny. You're not even trying. You'vehad a rough day, so I'll give you a break. Could it be that they're both in love with woman of power? Women who are, literally or figuratively, their commanders?"

Hawke's heart gave a sudden thud. Her headache seemed to have vanished.

"I know it might look like Fenris is pulling away from you. But it looks to me more like he's letting other people in. I'd say that was a good thing, wouldn't you?" He gave her a few seconds to ponder that, then moved closer to her chair and fixed her with a glare.

"Now," he said, hands on his hips, "Someone is using my usual bar as a rendezvous location, and it's messed up the atmosphere. Do you have any idea how many stairs I had to climb to get here? I expect to be offered a drink."


	43. Chapter 43

The next morning, she slumped into her leathers with a grumbled curse. It was unfair that someone so short could put away booze so easily. Varric had leftlate last night with a promise to meet them at the bar in the morning, whistling a snatch of a tune as he left. Hawke was left behind groggy with a lingering headache, and she didn't feel much better this morning.

However, there was business to attend to. She squared her shoulders, and headed off to Fenris' house. She still wasn't sure how she felt about things, but she'd decided that wasn't important for now. Fenris needed her help; she'd promised to give it. It was time to get moving.

Fenris answered her knock so quickly that she suspected he'd been standing in the hall waiting for her. He made no move to leave, however, but ushered her in and began - or was it resumed? - pacing in the entry hall.

"There have been no further reports from Donnic," he said briefly. "Varric sent a messenger to say that Varania seems to be there, and seems to be alone."

Hawke said nothing, just watched as he continued to prowl back and forth.

"I've been warming up since dawn," he continued after a moment. "I'm trying to think what else I'm forgetting, what I ought to have done. There must be something."

She watched him for a minute more. When there was no indication he planned to stop wearing a groove in the stones of the foyer anytime soon, she stepped abruptly forward. He stopped, startled to find her in his path.

"Then we should go," she said. "It's the not knowing that's making you crazy. Either it _is_ a trap or it isn't, and there's only one way to find out."

He frowned, then nodded. "I suppose you're right."

He walked through the door, leaning forward slightly as though he were pushing against a strong wind. He rested his hand on the door a moment, then took a deep breath and led the way out into the sunlight.

"I tried what you suggested, about writing down the memories when they come," Fenris continued. He'd started talking as they passed the Chantry steps, and had hardly paused for a breath since. If it had been anyone else, Hawke would have said he was babbling. Her eyebrows had risen almost to her hairline when he started; she was worried they might be permanently stuck there by now.

"I bought a blank book just for that purpose, and I've been making notes - writing down the memories as they happen. As much as I can, of course; sometimes I'm out and don't have the book with me. Sometimes I forget before I finish writing; I'm still not as fast with a pen as I would like. But I think it has helped a little with retaining the memories, just as you said. I may even recognize Varania when we get there. She has red hair, I'm almost certain. That is... I knew that already from the reports of the men I paid. But I think I remember it as well; the exact shade." They walked a few more steps. "Do you know, I think my own hair used to be black? It must have been the lyrium ritual that changed it." He lifted a lock from his forehead and looked at it for a moment, dropping it abruptly when he stubbed his toe on a misaligned cobble.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You're laughing at me again. Must you do that?"

"I can't help it," Hawke said, releasing the chuckle that she'd been valiantly trying to hold in for the last five minutes. "In the six years I've known you, I don't think I've _ever_ heard you talk so much at once. Not even when you're drunk."

He grimaced ruefully. "I'm... really nervous, Hawke. I'm facing a past I know nothing about. It has to be a trap."

"And if it is, we'll bust out of it. I promise." The last of her anger had slipped away in the face of his anxiety. He'd never allowed her to see him vulnerable before. He wore his mask of stoic disinterest like a shield, and when he couldn't maintain it, he replaced it with anger. When anger failed him, he fled. She'd never had this kind of honesty from him before; it almost made the whole deception around his search worthwhile. She took his hand in hers, and squeezed it. After a moment, he squeezed back.

"We'll be there soon," she said, "and the worst of it will be over. Only one more flight of stairs now, and we'll be at the Hanged Man."


	44. Chapter 44

Fenris was right, of course. It was a trap.

This early in the day, the Hanged Man was almost deserted, with just a few faded regulars slumped along the bar. Varric and Merrill sat at one of the tables across the way, Varric's hands loosely clasped around a full mug of ale. At the back of the room, a red haired elf sat alone.

Fenris moved toward her, committed now. Hawke followed a few discreet paces behind. Varania watched them come, stiff and silent. They'd hardly spoken to her, however, before Danarius and his hooded thugs strode down the stairs from the back hall. Even if Hawke hadn't already been prepared to detest him on sight, his smug insinuations would have done it. She held her temper and her blades, though, waiting for Fenris to act. But he didn't. He argued with Danarius, as though the man could be made to see the wrong he'd done and the pain he'd caused. Fenris still didn't move when Danarius finally fixed him with a sharp gaze and in ringing tones demanded that the elf call him Master.

That was enough for Hawke. She sprang forward, daggers flashing. She was intercepted by one of the hooded bodyguards, as Danarius flicked up a protective shield and retreated partway up the steps. She saw from the corner of her eye that Fenris remained frozen in place, eyes wide.

_Come on_ , she thought frantically.  _Don't do this. Wake up._

As though he'd heard her, a tremor passed through him. With a sudden, smooth motion, he pulled the monstrous sword off his back and dove into the nearest bodyguard. Hawke found herself grinning fiercely in relief.

It was a vicious fight. Varric and Merrill launched arrows and magic from the far side of the bar, the early customers having long since fled. After he ran out of bodyguards, Danarius summoned shades and a rage demon, then some skeleton archers. In truth, though, it was the damage he did himself that was the most devastating, both to them and to the room. Corff is going to be pissed, Hawke found herself thinking as she dodged chunks of ice. Furniture was frozen then shattered, and the oil from several shrapnel-smashed lamps aught fire over near the bar. Hawke herself had been hit again and again with Danarius' fire spells; she was running out of health potions. She half wished they'd gone to fetch Anders before showing up this morning. He and Fenris might detest each other all they liked in their own time; but right now... Andraste's tits, Hawke would have loved to have some healing magic thrown her way.

Finally, though, after Danarius had exhausted the power supply of his dead bodyguards' blood and drunk his last lyrium potion, the strength of his spells started to fade. Fenris got in a blow that sent the mage liding across the floor. Dropping his sword entirely in his haste, Fenris dashed after him, grabbing Danarius by the neck and lifting him off the ground.

"Fenris… stop," he wheezed. "I command you."

"You are no longer my master," Fenris growled, and tore out Danarius' throat with his bare hands. The voice that had controlled him for so long was finally silenced.

Hawke staggered as the rage demon melted away when the mage fell. Her leggings were charred through along her thigh, where the demon had wrapped its tendrils of fire in an attempt to pull her down into the Fade. She quickly turned to check on the others. Merrill was swaying slightly and had grabbed at a chair to support herself, but looked otherwise unharmed. Varric stood from where he had braced himself against a toppled table, wiping his brow.

When she looked back around, Fenris was almost on top of Varania. The red-haired elf had retreated to the corner while the fighting had gone on - not hiding, just waiting. She seemed confused that they had won. Too late, she looked into Fenris' face and saw the emotion there.

"I had no choice, Leto," she said grimly.

"Stop calling me that!" he snarled. To Hawke he sounded more distressed than angry, but she doubted Varania would be able to tell the difference. She ignored the pain in her leg, limping as quickly as she could o stand behind his shoulder. Whatever happened next, it was going to be hard.

"He was going to make me his apprentice," Varania was explaining, as though she could excuse her betrayal. "I would have been a magister."

"You sold out your own brother to become a magister?" Fenris looked ready to explode. Hawke's hand hovered near his arm for a moment, then fell.

"You have no idea what we went through, what I've had to do since mother died," Varania snapped. "This was my only chance."

"And now you have no chance at all," he replied grimly, leaning forward.

"Please," she cried, shrinking back. "Don't do this." She looked to Hawke over his shoulder. "Please tell him to stop!"

"Fenris..." The words stuck in Hawke's throat. She knew if Fenris killed his sister he'd regret it someday. But she also knew she couldn't possibly keep telling Fenris what to do. He'd been clear he wanted to do this alone; she was here to help fight. That was all.

Fenris hadn't moved, but he hadn't turned away from his sister. His breath came hard and fast, and the line of his shoulders was tense.

"Elf... " came Varric's husky voice from beside her. "Fenris. I know how hard this is to believe, but this is the last thing you want to do."

Fenris half turned to look at Varric. The dwarf looked steadily back.

Fenris took a deep breath. "Get out," he snapped to Varania.

Hawke silently squeezed Varric's shoulder in thanks.

Varania ran for the door; but she stopped when she reached it. Fenris was still facing away, refusing to watch her go. 

"You said you didn't ask for this," she choked out. "But that's not true. You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won, you used the boon to have mother and I freed."

Fenris whirled. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain." And with that, she turned and fled out the door.

They all stood still a moment, stunned. Fenris clenched his fists and swallowed convulsively.

"Fenris?" Hawke asked tentatively.

His eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too. There is nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone."

"We're here," she offered.

He gave her a small bittersweet smile, then turned away abruptly, passing his hand over his eyes.

"You heard what Varania said." His voice was bitter. "I wanted this. I fought for them. I feel unclean. Like this magic is not only etched into my skin, but stained my soul." He wiped his face once more. "Let's go. I need to get out of here."

Fenris, Hawke and Merrill stepped out into the sunlight. Varric had ushered them out of the Hanged Man, saying he'd deal with the mess and the management. Corff had been hiding in the back room, but when the fighting stopped he had cautiously emerged. Hawke heard him muttering dire threats about 'banned for life,' and 'Templars called on sight,' but she was pretty sure Varric's silver tongue and golden purse would sort it all out.

She was more worried about Fenris. She took a breath to ask him if he was all right, but stopped and bit her lip. Stupid question. Of course he wasn't.

Fenris squinted in the sunlight, as though he'd been indoors for weeks rather than minutes. He glanced over at her. "Hawke, I'm going to... I need some time… to think this through."

"Of course," she nodded.

"I'm not sure what happens next," he added, picking at his sleeve, "but I promise that I won't disappear without at least coming to say goodbye." He turned without looking at her and strode away in the direction of the docks.

Goodbye? She hadn't even considered... but then, he'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? He'd been searching for his freedom and he had it at last. Why should he stay?

She sighed, tried not to notice the sympathy in Merrill's eyes, and started limping her way towards Darktown. She should probably have Anders look at these burns. Silent for once, Merrill slid an arm around Hawke's waist. They both pretended it was to help her walk rather than for comfort.


	45. Chapter 45

A week later, Hawke was dragging herself across the square towards home when she saw Fenris step out her front door. A small sliver of dread pushed its way into her belly, and she almost stopped.  _Coward_ , she told herself. She pushed her shoulders back, and kept walking. He spotted her, and changed course to meet her, recoiling suddenly a few feet away.

"Hawke. Ugh. Where have you been?"

"Should be moderately obvious, from the smell. Anders and I have been tromping around the sewers all morning." She wiped her brow with disgust. "I think it's fair to say whatever debt I owed him for saving my life has pretty much been paid."

"I should hope so." Fenris wrinkled his nose.

"What is it you need? Can it wait until I've had a bath?"

"Yes, that would be preferable. Come and see me when you're finished?"

"I will," she said.

* * *

Two baths in a row was extravagant, Hawke knew. She felt a little bad for making Sandal and Orana carry up the hot water twice, but didn't she deserve to be warm and clean after a day in the sewers digging up Maker knew what filth for Anders' potion? The water of the first bath had taken on a certain murky quality that she hadn't wanted to sit in. But she deserved a good soak, she told herself. She was smelly and tired and worried.

If she were honest with herself, she was also trying to put off seeing Fenris for as long as possible.

She sighed, and slipped down into the water to her chin. Fenris had come to a decision. He wasn't the sort of man to talk things through and decide as he went; he went off on his own and made a decision, and either you were happy with what he came back with or you weren't. So far she was hard pressed to think of any time she'd actually been happy with the results of his disappearances, but it was his life, wasn't it?

The water was starting to cool; she couldn't put this off forever. Best to think through what was coming. So. It was possible, even likely, that he'd come to say goodbye. He'd be off to Seheron, perhaps, to look for his unknown father, or just to revisit the land of his birth. Or he'd go back to Mithranous to dance on Danarius' grave. His memory was returning; maybe there were friends he wanted to find.

For the first time in his life he was truly free; he wasn't likely to want to spend that freedom following Hawke around Kirkwall. He might ask her to come with him - but no, he knew she was too tied up here, with Bethany in the Circle and Anders acting strange and Meredith trying to pretend she was the new viscount. Maybe he'd promise to come back and visit sometime. It was possible he'd even follow through and actually do it. She'd have to be content with that.

She submerged her whole head. When her breath gave out, she pulled herself all the way out of the tub and started to dry off.


	46. Chapter 46

Once out of the bath, Hawke had made her way to Fenris' house quickly, and rapped sharply on his door. She'd made him wait longer than she'd intended.

He ushered her in silently, and she followed him up the stairs. The study looked much as it normally did, though she noticed there was a half-packed satchel by the foot of the bed. She tried not to frown. Fenris said nothing about it, however; he simply walked to the table and stopped, leaning forward on his hands. 

She made her way over to a chair and sat. "So," she prompted after a moment of silence. "You've been thinking about what happened."

"Yes," he said slowly. He slid his hands across the tabletop, studying it as though all the answers were carved into its surface. "Danarius is dead and I am free. Yet... it doesn't feel like it should."

She curled her legs up underneath her and leaned her elbows on the chair arm. "You thought killing him would change everything, but it doesn't."

His lips had a wry twist to them. "Apparently not." 

He pulled away from the table and paced back across the room. "I thought if I didn't need to run and fight to stay alive, I would finally be able to live as a free man does. But how is that? My sister is gone, and I have nothing—not even an enemy."

_I have nothing._ It seemed to echo in her head.

He glanced over at her, opened his mouth, then closed it again. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he moved toward the window. 

"Perhaps..." There seemed to be something stuck in her throat. She shifted, setting her feet back on the floor, and tried again. 

"Perhaps that just means there's nothing holding you back."

He turned and leaned against the windowsill, studying her through his hair. "Maybe you're right. It's just… difficult to overlook the stain that magic has left on my life." He looked at his feet for a moment, then back up at Hawke. "It  _is_  time to move forward. I just don't know where that leads." He took a breath, let it out. Took another. "Do you?"

Her heart took off at a million miles an hour.

Fenris picked at his gauntlet for a moment, fingering the faded ribbon, and added, "We never discussed what happened between us three years ago."

She cleared her throat. "Neither of us is very good at talking about the important things."

"I felt like a fool," he said softly. "I thought it better if you hated me… I deserved no less. But it isn't better."

She found herself on her feet, moving towards him. "I never hated you," she said.

He brushed his hair aside to look directly into her eyes. "I should have asked for your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now. If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you how I felt."

Of its own volition, her hand rose to touch his cheek. He closed his eyes. She took the last step toward him and rested her forehead against his. His hand reached up to cover hers.

"I thought for sure you were leaving," she admitted after a moment.

He released her hand to take hold of her shoulders, putting enough space between them to focus on her face. "I thought about it. It's hard for me to trust... maybe more so after what I learned about my past." Hawke brought her hand down to rest against his chest. She could feel the quick beat of his heart.

"But in the end," he continued, "I realized nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you. If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side."

Her lips parted, tongue darting out to moisten her lower lip, but otherwise she didn't move. His choice. She needed the final move to be his.

He closed the distance between them, brushing his lips along her own. She kissed him back, gently. His hands squeezed her shoulders, then one arm slid around her back to pull her closer. She tilted her head, opening her lips to him. She slid her hand from his chest up around to the back of his neck, her other hand floating in the air somewhere near his shoulder, fingers reaching for him but not touching. She let him drive the kiss.

After a moment, he drew back and studied her, brows drawn together. "I'm not made of glass, Jade," he said eventually. 

"I know. I just..." She rested her head on his shoulder, looking for words. And - she might as well admit it, at least to herself - hiding. She wanted more than anything not to screw this up.

"I blew it, before," she said into his chest. "I pushed you too hard. I'm afraid - I'm terrified - of doing it again. I thought if I let you lead..." she snorted at herself and looked up. "Then it wouldn't be my fault if things went wrong."

He smiled. "I know something about that." He brushed his thumb across her lips. "What about a compromise?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you knew that word."

"I'm perfectly familiar with the word," he mock growled, shaking her slightly by the shoulders, "though I'm not offering to spell it." He waited for her smile before continuing. "I was thinking we might trade. I'll make a move, and then you make one. See where it takes us."

She smiled. "That I can do."

He leaned in to kiss her. She brought both hands up, tangling them in his hair.

He smiled against her lips, and nudged her back a step.

_Oh is that where this is going?_  she thought, and took another step back, pulling gently at his hair to bring him with her. He kissed her again, harder, the force of it pushing her until she found herself up against the table.

She relished the feeling of being pinned for a moment, then slid her hands down to his shoulders and forward, knotting them in his shirt to pull him over to the side, around the corner of the table, his back now to the bed. He growled and yanked her over to join him.

Kiss and step, kiss and step. They made their way slowly across the room until the bed hit the back of Fenris' knees. She paused, not quite sure that she could make that last leap, and pulled back to examine his expression. His eyes sparkled with sudden mischief, and before she could blink, he'd grabbed her around the waist, then turned to toss her onto the bed. She gave a shriek of surprise, then a breath of laughter.

Fenris watched her wiggle her way farther back onto the bed. His smile was relaxed, his expression open, his eyes heated. No walls stood between them, no awkwardness.

Jade felt a little rush of joy. No matter what came next - no matter what Kirkwall or the greater powers might throw at them - nothing could take away this moment. She felt as though she could do anything, anything at all, with Fenris by her side. They would take on the world together, one step at a time. Hand in hand.

But that was for another day. For now... she leaned forward, grabbed his shirt in both hands, and yanked him down on top of her.


End file.
